X 


y 


■/' 


i^*^'>f4/«^^ 


'^^^";  -i^''^^"m^^■• 


^/B  ^/Zma^-t^cc^ 


II 


SEBASTOPOL 


BY 


COUNT  LEO  TOLSTOI 


TRANSLATED   FROM    THE    FRENCH 
BY 

FRANK   D.  MILLET 


WITH    INTRODUCTION    BY    \V.    D.    HOWELLS 


WITH    PORTRAIT 


NEW    YORK 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    FRANKLIN    SQUARE 

1887 


Copyright,  1887,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 


All  rights  rcserrca. 


LEO    TOLSTOI. 


When  I  read  in  the  excellent  essay  of 
M.  Ernest  Dupuy  that  "  Count  Leo  N. 
Tolstoi  was  born  on  the  28th  of  August, 
1828,  at  Yasnaya  Polyana,  a  village  near 
Inla,  in  the  government  of  Inla,"  I  have  a 
sense  of  lunar  remoteness  in  him.  It  is  as 
if  these  geographical  expressions  were  de- 
scriptive of  localities  in  the  ungazetteered 
regions  of  the  moon;  and  yet  this  far-fetched 
Russian  nobleman  is  precisely  the  human 
being  with  whom  at  this  moment  I  find  my- 
self in  the  greatest  intimacy;  not  because 
I  know  him,  but  because  I  know  myself 
through  him ;  because  he  has  wa-itten  more 
faithfully  of  the  life  common  to  all  men,  the 
universal  life  which  is  the  most  personal 
life,  than  any  other  author  whom  I  have 
read.      This    merit   the    Russian    novelists 


6  Leo  Tolstoi. 

have  each  in  some  degree ;  Tolstoi  has  it 
in  pre-eminent  degree,  and  that  is  why  the 
reading  of  "  Peace  and  War,"  "  Anna  Ka- 
renina,"  "My  Religion,"  "Childhood,  Boy- 
hood, and  Youth,"  "  Scenes  at  the  Siege  of 
Sebastopol,"  "  The  Cossacks,"  "  The  Death 
of  Ivan  Illitch,"  "  Katia,"  and  "  Polikouch- 
ka,"  forms  an  epoch  for  thoughtful  people. 
In  these  books  you  seem  to  come  face  to 
face  with  human  nature  for  the  first  time 
in  fiction.  All  other  fiction  at  times  seems 
fiction ;  these  alone  seem  the  very  truth 
always. 

The  facts  of  Tolstoi"  s  life,  as  one  gathers 
them  from  the  essays  of  M.  Dupuy  and  of 
M.  Melchoir  de  Vogue,  are  briefly  that  he 
studied  Oriental  languages  and  the  law  at 
the  University  of  Kazan ;  then  entered  the 
army,  served  in  the  Crimean  war,  resigned 
at  its  close ;  gave  himself  up  to  society  and 
literature  in  St.  Petersburg;  and  finally  left 
the  capital  for  his  estates,  where  he  has 
since  lived  the  life  of  lowly  usefulness  which 
he  believes  to  be  the  true  Christian  life. 
The  man  whose  career  was  in  camps,  in 


Leo  Tolstoi.  y 

courts,  and  in  salons,  now  makes  shoes  for 
peasants,  and  humbly  seeks  to  instruct  them 
and  guide  them  by  the  little  tales  he  writes 
for  them  in  the  intervals  of  his  great  work 
of  newly  translating  the  gospels.  He  mar- 
ried the  daughter  of  a  German  physician  of 
Moscow,  and  his  wife  and  children  share  his 
toils  and  ideals.  Not  much  more  is  known 
of  the  retirement  of  this  very  great  man; 
but  I  heard  that  an  American  traveller  who 
lately  passed  a  day  with  him  found  him 
steadfast  in  the  conviction  that  withdrew 
him  from  society — the  conviction  that  Jesus 
Christ  came  into  the  world  to  teach  men 
how  to  live  in  it,  and  that  He  meant  liter- 
ally what  He  said  when  He  forbade  us 
luxury,  war,  litigation,  unchastity,  and  hy- 
pocrisy. His  latest  book,  "  Que  Faire,"  is 
a  relentlessly  searching  statement  of  the 
facts  and  reasons  which  forced  this  con- 
viction upon  him. 

It  is  a  sorrowful  comment  on  our  Chris- 
tianity that  this  frank  acceptance  of  Christ's 
messao^e  seems  eccentric  and  even  mad  to 
the  world.     But  it  is  the  "  increasing  pur- 


S  Leo  Tolstoi. 

pose  "  which  runs  through  all  Tolstoi's  work 
from  first  to  last ;  it  is  what  makes  him  ijreat 
above  all  others  who  have  written  fiction. 
It  does  not  much  matter  where  you  begin 
with  him ;  you  feel  instantly  that  the  man  is 
mighty,  and  mighty  through  his  conscience ; 
that  he  is  not  trying  to  surprise  or  dazzle 
you  with  his  art,  but  that  he  is  trying  to 
make  you  think  clearly  and  feel  rightly 
about  vital  things  with  which  "  art "  has  of- 
ten dealt  with  diabolical  indifference  or  dia- 
bolical malevolence. 

I  do  not  know  how  it  is  with  others  to 
whom  these  books  of  Tolstoi's  have  come, 
but  for  my  own  part  I  cannot  think  of  them 
as  literature  in  the  artistic  sense  at  all. 
Some  people  complain  to  me,  when  I  praise 
them,  that  they  are  too  long,  too  diffuse, 
too  confused,  that  the  characters'  names  are 
hard  to  pronounce,  and  that  the  life  they 
portray  is  very  sad  and  not  amusing.  In 
the  presence  of  these  criticisms  I  can  only 
say  that  I  find  them  nothing  of  the  kind, 
but  that  each  history  of  Tolstoi's  is  as  clear, 
as  orderly,  as  brief,  as  something  I  have  lived 


Leo  Tolstoi. 


9 


through  myself;  as  for  the  names,  they  are 
necessarily  Russian.  It  is  when  some  one 
tells  me  they  are  "  pessimistic  "  that  I  really 
despair.  I  have  always  supposed  pessimism 
to  be  the  doctrine  of  the  prevalence  of  evil, 
and  these  books  perpetually  teach  me  that 
the  good  prevails,  and  always  will  prevail 
whenever  men  put  self  aside,  and  strive  sim- 
ply and  humbly  to  be  good.  We  are  all  so 
besotted  with  dreams  and  vanities  that  we 
have  come  to  think  that  the  right  will  accom- 
plish itself  spectacularly,  splendidly;  but 
Tolstoi'  makes  us  know  that  it  never  can  do 
so.  He  teaches  such  of  us  as  will  hear  him 
that  the  Right  is  the  sum  of  each  man's  poor 
little  personal  effort  to  do  right,  and  that  the 
success  of  this  effort  means  daily,  hourly 
self-renunciation,  self-abasement,  the  sinking 
of  one's  pride  in  absolute  squalor  before 
duty.  This  is  not  pleasant ;  the  heroic  ideal 
of  righteousness  is  more  picturesque,  more 
attractive ;  but  is  this  not  the  truth  ?  Let 
any  one  try,  and  see !  I  cannot  think  of 
any  service  which  imaginative  literature  has 
done  the  race  so  2:reat  as  that  which  Tolstoi' 


10  Leo  Tolstoi. 

has  done  in  his  conception  of  Karenin  at 
that  crucial  moment  when  the  cruelly  out- 
raged man  sees  that  he  cannot  be  good  with 
dignity.  This  leaves  all  tricks  of  fancy,  all 
effects  of  art,  immeasurably  behind. 

In  fact,  Tolstoi'  brings  us  back  in  his  fic- 
tion, as  in  his  life,  to  the  Christ  ideal.  "  Ex- 
cept ye  become  as  little  children  " — that  is 
what  he  says  in  every  part  of  his  work ;  and 
this  w^ork,  so  incomparably  good  aesthetical- 
ly, to  my  thinking,  is  still  greater  ethically. 
You  will  not  find  its  lessons  put  at  you,  any 
more  than  you  will  those  of  life.  No  little 
traps  are  sprung  for  your  surprise ;  no  cal- 
cium light  is  thrown  upon  this  climax  or 
that ;  no  virtue  or  vice  is  posed  for  you ; 
but  if  you  have  ears  to  hear  or  eyes  to  see, 
listen  and  look,  and  you  will  have  the  sense 
of  inexhaustible  significance. 

I  happened  to  begin  with  "  The  Cossacks  " 
— that  epic  of  nature,  and  of  a  young  man's 
sorrowful,  wandering  desire  to  get  into  har- 
mony with  the  divine  scheme  of  beneficence; 
then  I  read  "Anna  Karenina  " — that  most 
tragical  history  of  loss  and  ruin  to  brilliancy 


Leo  Tolstoi.  ii 

and  loveliness,  out  of  which  the  good  can 
alone  save  itself ;  then  I  came  to  "  Peace  and 
War,"  that  great  assertion  of  the  sufficiency 
of  common  men  in  all  crises,  and  the  insuf- 
ficiency of  heroes  ;  I  found  some  chapters 
of  the  "  Scenes  at  the  Siege  of  Sebastopol," 
and  I  read  them  with  a  yet  keener  sense  of 
this  truth;  "  Childhood, Boyhood, and  Youth" 
made  me  acquainted  for  the  first  time  in  lit- 
erature with  the  real  heart  of  the  young  of 
our  species ;  "  The  Death  of  Ivan  Illitch  " 
expressed  the  horror  and  the  stress  of  mor- 
tality, with  its  final  bliss,  and  made  it  a  part 
of  Nature  as  I  never  had  realized  it  before ; 
"  Polikouchka,"  slight,  broken,  almost  uncon- 
cluded,was  perfect  and  powerful  and  infinite 
in  its  scope  of  mercy  and  sympathy. 

I  know  very  well  that  I  do  not  speak  of 
these  books  in  measured  terms ;  I  cannot. 
As  yet  my  sense  of  obligation  to  them  is  so 
great  that  I  neither  can  make  nor  wish  to 
make  a  close  accounting  with  their  author, 
and  I  am  not  disposed  to  exploit  them  for 
the  reader's  entertainment.  As  often  as  I 
have  tried  to  do  this  their  aesthetic  interest 


12  Leo  Tolstoi. 

has  escaped  me.  I  have  been  ashamed  to 
tag  them  with  the  tattered  old  adjectives  of 
praise,  and  I  have  found  myself  thinking  of 
them  on  their  ethical  side.  But  they  exist 
increasingly  in  English  and  in  French,  and 
the  best  way,  the  only  way,  to  get  a  due 
sense  of  them  is  to  read  them. 

W.    D.    HOWELLS. 


/ 


SEBASTOPOL  IN  DECEMBER,  183^ 


SEB  ASTOPOL. 


SEBASTOPOL  IN  DECEMBER,  1854. 

Dawn  tinges  the  horizon  above  Mount 
Sapoune;  the  shadows  of  the  night  have  left 
the  surface  of  the  sea,  which,  now  dark  blue 
in  color,  only  awaits  the  first  ray  of  sunshine 
to  sparkle  merrily ;  a  cold  wind  blows  from 
the  fog-enveloped  bay ;  there  is  no  snow  on 
the  ground,  the  earth  is  black,  but  frost 
stinors  the  face  and  cracks  underfoot.  The 
quiet  of  the  morning  is  disturbed  only  by 
the  incessant  murmuring  of  the  waves,  and 
is  broken  at  long  intervals  by  the  dull  roar 
of  cannon.  All  is  silent  on  the  men-of-war ; 
the  hour-glass  has  just  marked  the  eighth 
hour.  Towards  the  north  the  activity  of 
day  replaces  little  by  little  the  tranquillity 
of  night.  On  this  side  a  detachment  of  sol- 
diers is  going  to  relieve  the  guard,  and  the 
click  of  their  guns  can  be  heard ;  a  surgeon 


i6  Sebastopol, 

hurries  towards  his  hospital;  a  soldier  crawls 
out  of  kis  hut,  washes  his  sunburned  face 
with  icy  water,  turns  towards  the  east,  and 
repeats  a  prayer,  making  rapid  signs  of  the 
cross.  On  that  side  an  enormous,  heavy 
cart  with  creaking  wheels  reaches  the  cem- 
etery where  they  are  going  to  bury  the 
corpses  heaped  almost  to  the  top  of  the  vehi- 
cle. Approach  the  harbor  and  you  are  disa- 
greeably surprised  by  a  mixture  of  odors;  you 
smell  coal,  manure,  moisture,  meat.  There 
are  thousands  of  different  objects :  wood, 
flour,  gabions,  beef,  thrown  in  heaps  here 
and  there;  soldiers  of  different  regiments, 
some  provided  with  guns  and  with  bags, 
others  with  neither  guns  nor  bags,  crowd 
together ;  they  smoke,  they  quarrel,  and  they 
bear  loads  upon  the  steamer  stationed  near 
the  plank  bridge  and  ready  to  sail.  Small 
private  boats,  filled  with  all  sorts  of  people 
— soldiers,  sailors,  merchants,  and  women — 
are  constantly  arriving  and  departing.  "  This 
way  for  Grafskaya !"  and  two  or  three  re- 
tired sailors  rise  in  their  boats  and  offer  you 
their  services.  You  choose  the  nearest  one, 
stride  over  the  half-decomposed  body  of  a 
black  horse  lying  in  the  mud  two  steps  from 


December^  18^4.  ly 

the  boat,  and  seat  yourself  near  the  helm. 
You  push  off  from  the  shore ;  all  around 
you  the  sea  sparkles  in  the  morning  sun  ;  in 
front  of  you  an  old  sailor  in  an  overcoat  of 
camel's-hair  cloth  and  a  lad  with  blond  hair 
are  diligently  rowing.  You  turn  your  eyes 
upon  the  gigantic  ships  with  scratched  hulls 
scattered  over  the  harbor,  upon  the  shallops, 
— black  dots  on  the  sparkling  azure  of  the 
water — upon  the  pretty  houses  of  the  town, 
to  whose  light-colored  tones  the  rising  sun 
gives  a  rosy  tinge,  upon  the  hostile  fleet 
standing  like  light-houses  in  the  crystalline 
distance  of  the  sea,  and,  at  last,  upon  the 
foaming  waves,  where  play  the  salt  drops 
which  the  oars  dash  into  the  air.  You 
hear  at  the  same  time  the  regular  sound  of 
voices  which  comes  over  the  water,  and  the 
grand  roar  of  the  cannonade  at  Sebastopol, 
which  seems  to  increase  in  strength  as  you 
listen. 

At  the  thought  that  you,  you  also,  are  in 
Sebastopol,  your  whole  soul  is  filled  with  a 
sentiment  of  pride  and  of  valor,  and  your 
blood  runs  quicker  in  your  veins. 

"  Straight  towards  the  Constantine,  your 
excellency,"    says    the    old    sailor,   turning 

2 


1 8  _         Sebastopol. 

around  to  the  direction  you  are  giving  to 
the  helm. 

"  Look  !  she  has  still  got  all  her  cannons," 
remarks  the  lad  with  the  blond  hair  as  the 
boat  glides  along  the  side  of  the  ship. 

"  She  is  quite  new,  she  ought  to  have 
them.  Korniloff  lives  on  board,"  repeats 
the  old  man,  examining  in  his  turn  the  man- 
of-war. 

"  There  !  it  has  burst !"  cries  the  lad,  after 
a  long  silence,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  a  small 
white  cloud  of  drifting  smoke  suddenly  ap- 
pearing in  the  sky  above  the  south  bay,  and 
accompanied  by  the  strident  noise  of  a  shell 
explosion. 

"  They  are  firing  from  the  new  battery  to- 
day," adds  the  sailor,  calmly  spitting  in  his 
hand.  "  Come  along,  Nichka ;  pull  away. 
Let's  pass  the  shallop." 

And  the  small  boat  moves  rapidly  over 
the  undulating  surface  of  the  bay,  leaves  the 
heavy  shallop  behind  laden  with  bags  and 
with  soldiers,  unskilful  rowers  who  are  pull- 
ing awkwardly,  and  at  last  lands  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a  great  number  of  boats  moored  to 
the  shore  in  the  harbor  of  Grafskaya.  A 
crowd  of  soldiers  in  gray  overcoats,  sailors 


December,  18^4.  ig 

in  black  jackets,  and  women  in  motley  gowns 
comes  and  goes  on  the  quay.  Some  peas- 
ants are  selling  bread ;  others,  seated  beside 
their  samovars,  offer  to  customers  warm 
drink. 

Here,  on  the  upper  steps  of  the  landing, 
are  strewn  about,  pell-mell,  rusty  shot,  shell, 
canister,  cast-iron  cannon  of  different  cali- 
bres ;  there,  farther  away,  in  a  great  open 
square,  are  lying  enormous  joists,  gun-car- 
riages, sleeping  soldiers.  On  one  side  are 
wagons,  horses,  cannon,  artillery  caissons, 
stacks  of  muskets ;  farther  on,  soldiers,  sail- 
ors, officers,  women,  and  children  are  mov- 
ing about ;  carts  full  of  bread,  bags,  and  bar- 
rels, a  Cossack  on  horseback,  a  general  in  his 
droschky,  are  crossing  the  square.  A  bar- 
ricade looms  up  in  the  street  to  the  right, 
and  in  its  embrasures  are  small  cannon,  be- 
side which  a  sailor  is  sitting  quietly  smok- 
ing his  pipe.  On  the  left  stands  a  pretty 
house,  on  the  pediment  of  which  are  scrawl- 
ed numerals,  and  above  can  be  seen  soldiers 
and  blood-stained  stretchers.  The  dismal 
traces  of  a  camp  in  war-time  meet  the  eye 
everywhere.  Your  first  impression  is,  doubt- 
less, a  disagreeable  one ;  the  strange  amal- 


20  Sebastopol. 

gamation  of  town  life  with  camp  life,  of  an 
elegant  city  and  a  dirt}^  bivouac,  strikes  you 
like  a  hideous  incongruity.  It  seems  to  you 
that  all,  overcome  by  terror,  are  acting  vac- 
uously; but  if  you  examine  the  faces  of  those 
men  who  are  moving  about  you,  you  will 
think  differently.  Look  well  at  this  soldier 
of  the  wagon-train  who  is  leading  his  bay 
troitka  horses  to  drink,  humming  through 
his  teeth,  and  you  shall  find  that  he  does  not 
go  astray  in  this  confused  crowd,  which  in 
fact  does  not  exist  for  him,  for  he  is  full  of 
his  own  business,  and  will  do  his  duty,  what- 
ever it  is — will  lead  his  horses  to  the  water- 
ing-place or  drag  a  cannon  with  as  much 
calm  and  assured  indifference  as  if  he  were 
at  Toula  or  at  Saransk.  You  notice  the 
same  expression  on  the  face  of  this  officer, 
with  his  irreproachable  white  gloves,  who  is 
passing  before  you,  of  that  sailor  who  sits  on 
the  barricade  smoking,  of  the  soldiers  who 
wait  with  their  stretchers  at  the  door  of 
what  was  lately  the  Assembly  Hall,  even 
upon  the  face  of  the  young  girl  who  crosses 
the  street,  leaping  from  stone  to  stone  for 
fear  of  soiling  her  pink  dress.  Yes,  a  great 
deception  awaits  you  on  your  arrival  at  Se- 


December,  18^4.  21 

bastopol.  In  vain  you  seek  to  discover  upon 
any  face  traces  of  agitation,  fright,  indeed 
even  enthusiasm,  resignation  to  death,  reso- 
lution; there  is  nothing  of  all  that.  You 
see  the  course  of  every  -  day  life ;  see  peo- 
ple occupied  with  their  daily  toils,  so  that, 
in  fact,  you  blame  yourself  for  your  exag- 
gerated exaltation,  and  doubt  not  only  the 
truth  of  the  opinion  you  have  formed  from 
hearsay  about  the  heroism  of  the  defenders 
of  Sebastopol,  but  also  doubt  the  accuracy 
of  the  description  which  has  been  given  you 
on  the  north  side  and  the  sinister  sounds 
which  fill  the  air  there.  Before  doubting, 
however,  go  up  to  a  bastion,  see  the  defend- 
ers of  Sebastopol  on  the  very  place  of  the 
defence,  or  rather  enter  straight  into  this 
house  at  whose  door  stand  the  stretcher- 
bearers.  You  will  see  there  the  heroes  of 
the  army,  you  will  see  there  horrible  and 
heart-rending  sights,  both  sublime  and  com- 
ic, but  wonderful  and  of  a  soul-elevatinor  nat- 
ure.  Enter  this  great  hall,  which  before  the 
war  was  the  hall  of  the  Assembly.  Scarce- 
ly have  you  opened  the  door  before  the 
odor  exhaled  from  forty  or  fifty  amputations 
and   severe  wounds   turns  you   sick.     You 


22  Sebastopol. 

must  not  yield  to  the  feeling  which  keeps 
you  on  the  threshold  of  the  room,  it  is  an 
unworthy  feeling;  go  boldly  in,  and  not 
blush  at  having  come  to  look  at  these  mar- 
tyrs. You  may  approach  and  speak  with 
them.  The  wretches  like  to  see  a  pitying 
face,  to  relate  their  sufferings,  and  to  hear 
words  of  charity  and  sympathy.  Passing 
down  the  middle  between  the  beds,  you  look 
for  the  face  which  is  the  least  rigid,  the  least 
contracted  by  pain,  and  on  finding  it  decide 
to  go  near  and  put  a  question. 

"  Where  are  you  wounded  V  you  hesitat- 
ingly ask  an  old,  emaciated  soldier,  seated 
on  his  bed,  watching  you  with  a  kindly  look, 
and  apparently  inviting  you  to  approach. 
You  have,  I  say,  put  this  question  hesitating- 
ly, because  the  sight  of  the  sufferer  inspires 
not  only  a  lively  pity,  but  also  a  sort  of 
dread  of  hurting  his  feelings,  joined  with  a 
profound  respect. 

"On  the  foot,"  replies  the  soldier;  and 
nevertheless  you  notice  by  the  folds  of  the 
blanket  that  his  leg  has  been  cut  off  above 
the  knee. 

"God  be  praised!"  he  adds,  "I  shall  be 
discharged." 


December,  18^4.  2j 

"  Were  you  wounded  long  since  ?" 
"  It  is  the  sixth  week,  your  excellency." 
"  Where  do  you  feel  badly  now  ?" 
"  Nowhere  only  in  my  calf  when  it  is  bad 
weather ;  nothing  but  that." 
"  How  did  it  happen  ?" 
"  On  the  fifth  bastion,  your  excellency,  in 
the  first  bombardment.     I  had  just  sighted 
the  cannon,  and  was  going  quietly  to  the 
other  embrasure,  when  suddenly  something 
struck  my  foot.     I  thought  I  had  fallen  into 
a  hole.     I  looked — my  leg  was  gone  !" 
"  You  didn't  have  any  pain  at  first,  then ,?" 
"  None  at  all,  only  just  as  if  I  had  scald- 
ed my  leg ;  that's  all." 
"  And  afterwards  ?" 

"  None  afterwards,  only  when  they  stretch- 
ed the  skin  ;  that  was  a  little  rough.  First 
of  all  things,  your  excellency,  we  mustn't 
think.  When  we  don't  think  we  don't  feel. 
When  a  man  thinks,  it  is  the  worse  for 
im. 
Meanwhile,  a  woman  dressed  in  gray,  with 
a  black  kerchief  tied  around  her  head,  ap- 
proaches, joins  in  the  conversation,  and  be- 
gins to  give  a  detailed  account  of  the  sailor : 
how  he  has  suffered,  how  his  life  was  de- 


2^  Sebastopol. 

spaired  of  for  four  weeks,  how, when  wound- 
ed, he  made  them  stop  the  stretcher  on  which 
he  was  being  carried  to  the  rear  in  order  to 
watch  the  discharge  of  our  battery,  and  how 
the  grand-dukes  had  spoken  with  him,  had 
given  him  twenty -five  rubles,  and  how  he 
had  rephed  that,  not  being  able  to  serve  any 
more  himself,  he  would  like  to  come  back  to 
the  bastion  to  train  the  conscripts.  The 
good  woman,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  en- 
thusiasm, relates  this  in  one  breath,  looking 
at  you  and  then  at  the  sailor,  who  turns 
away  and  pretends  not  to  hear,  busy  with 
picking  lint  from  his  pillow. 

"  It  is  my  wife,  your  excellency,"  says  the 
sailor  at  last,  with  an  intonation  of  voice 
which  seems  to  say,  "  You  must  excuse  her; 
all  that  is  woman's  foolish  prattle,  you 
know." 

You  then  begin  to  understand  what  the 
defenders  of  Sebastopol  are,  and  you  are 
ashamed  of  yourself  in  the  presence  of  this 
man.  You  would  have  liked  to  express  all 
your  admiration  for  him,  all  your  sympathy, 
but  the  words  will  not  come,  or  those  which 
do  come  are  worthless,  and  you  can  only 
bow  in  silence  before  this  unconscious  gran- 


December,  18^4.  2^ 

deur,  before  this  firmness  of  soul  and  this 
exquisite  shame  of  his  own  merit. 

"Ah,  well,  may  God  speedily  cure  you!" 
you  say,  and  you  stop  before  another  wound- 
ed man  lying  on  the  floor,  who,  suffering 
horrible  pain,  seems  to  be  awaiting  his  death. 
He  is  blond,  and  his  pale  face  is  much  swol- 
len. Stretched  on  his  back,  his  left  hand 
thrown  up,  his  position  indicates  acute 
suffering.  His  hissing  breath  escapes  with 
difficulty  from  his  dry,  half- open  mouth. 
The  glassy  blue  pupils  of  his  eyes  are  rolled 
up  under  the  eyelids,  and  a  mutilated  arm, 
wrapped  in  bandages,  sticks  out  from  under 
the  tumbled  blanket.  A  nauseating,  corpse- 
like odor  rises  to  your  nostrils,  and  the  fever 
which  burns  the  sufferer's  limbs  seems  to 
penetrate  your  own  body. 

"  Is  he  unconscious  T'  you  ask  of  the 
woman  who  kindly  accompanies  you,  and 
to  whom  you  are  no  longer  a  stranger. 

"  No ;  he  can  still  hear,  but  he  is  very 
bad ;"  and  she  adds,  under  her  breath,  "  I 
have  just  made  him  drink  a  little  tea.  He 
is  nothing  to  me,  only  I  have  pity  on  him ; 
indeed,  he  has  only  been  able  to  swallow  a 
few  mouthfuls." 


26  Sebastopol. 

"  How  do  you  feel  ?"  you  ask  him. 

At  the  sound  of  your  voice  the  wounded 
man's  eyes  turn  towards  you,  but  he  neither 
sees  nor  understands. 

"  That  burns  my  heart !"  he  murmurs. 

A  little  farther  on  an  old  soldier  is  chang- 
ing his  clothes.  His  face  and  his  body  are 
both  of  the  same  brown  color,  and  as  thin 
as  a  skeleton.  One  of  his  arms  has  been 
amputated  at  the  shoulder.  He  is  seated 
on  his  bed,  he  is  out  of  danger,  but  from 
his  dull,  lifeless  look,  from  his  frightful  thin- 
ness, from  his  wrinkled  face,  you  see  that 
this  creature  has  already  passed  the  greater 
part  of  his  existence  in  suffering. 

On  the  opposite  bed  you  see  the  pale,  del- 
icate, pain-shrivelled  face  of  a  woman  whose 
cheeks  are  flushed  with  fever. 

"  It  is  a  sailor's  wife.  A  shell  hit  her  on 
the  foot  while  she  was  carrying  dinner  to 
her  husband  in  the  bastion,"  says  the  guide. 

"  Has  it  been  amputated  ?" 

"  Above  the  knee." 

Now,  if  your  nerves  are  strong,  enter  there 
at  the  left.  It  is  the  operating-room.  There 
you  see  surgeons  with  pale  and  serious  coun- 
tenances, their  arms  blood  -  splashed  to  the 


December,  18^4.  2"/ 

elbows,  beside  the  bed  of  a  wounded  man, 
who,  stretched  on  his  back  with  open  eyes, 
is  delirious  under  the  influence  of  chloro- 
form, and  utters  broken  phrases,  some  un- 
important, some  touching.  The  surgeons 
are  busy  with  their  repulsive  but  beneficent 
task,  amputation.  You  see  the  curved  and 
keen  blade  penetrate  the  healthy  white  flesh. 
The  wounded  man  suddenly  comes  to  him- 
self with  heart-rending  cries,  with  curses. 
The  assistant  surgeon  throws  the  arm  into 
a  corner,  while  another  wounded  man  on  a 
stretcher  who  sees  the  operation  turns  and 
groans,  more  on  account  of  the  mental  tort- 
ure of  expectation  than  from  the  physical 
pain  he  feels.  You  will  witness  these  horrible, 
heart-rending  scenes ;  you  will  see  war  with- 
out the  brilliant  and  accurate  alignment  of 
troops,  without  music,  without  the  drum-roll, 
without  standards  flying  in  the  wind,  with- 
out galloping  generals — you  will  see  it  as  it 
is,  in  blood,  in  suffering,  and  in  death  !  Leav- 
ing this  house  of  pain,  you  will  experience  a 
certain  impression  of  well-being,  you  will 
take  long  breaths  of  fresh  air,  and  will  be 
glad  to  feel  yourself  in  good  health ;  but  at 
the  same  time  the  contemplation  of  these 


28  Sebastoj)ol. 

misfortunes  will  have  convinced  you  of  your 
own  insignificance,  and  you  will  go  up  into 
a  bastion  without  hesitation.  What  are  the 
sufferings  and  the  death  of  an  atom  like  me, 
you  will  ask  yourself,  in  comparison  with 
these  innumerable  suffering's  and  deaths  ? 
Besides,  in  a  short  tmie  the  sight  of  the  pure 
sky,  of  the  bright  sun,  of  the  pretty  city,  of 
the  open  church,  of  the  soldiers  coming  and 
going  in  all  directions,  raises  your  spirits  to 
their  normal  state.  Habitual  indifference, 
preoccupation  with  the  present  and  with  its 
petty  interests,  resume  the  ascendant.  Per- 
haps you  will  meet  on  your  way  the  funeral 
corteore  of  an  officer — a  red  coffin  followed 
by  a  band  and  by  unfurled  standards — and 
perhaps  the  roar  of  the  cannonade  on  the 
bastion  will  strike  your  ear,  but  your  thoughts 
of  a  few  moments  before  will  not  come  back 
again.  The  funeral  will  only  be  a  pretty 
picture  for  you,  the  growl  of  the  cannon  a 
grand  military  accompaniment,  and  there 
will  be  nothing  in  common  between  this 
picture,  these  sounds,  and  the  clear,  person- 
al impression  of  suffering  and  death  called 
up  by  the  sight  of  the  operating-room. 
Pass  the  church,  the  barricade,  and  you 


December,  18^4,  2g 

enter  the  most  animated,  the  HveUest  quar- 
ter of  the  city.  On  both  sides  of  the  street 
are  shop  signs,  eating-house  signs.  Here 
are  merchants,  women  with  men's  hats  or 
with  handkerchiefs  on  their  heads,  officers 
in  elegant  uniforms.  Everything  testifies  to 
the  courage,  the  assurance,  the  safety  of  the 
inhabitants. 

Enter  this  restaurant  on  the  right.  If 
you  want  to  Hsten  to  the  sailors'  and  the 
officers'  talk,  you  will  hear  them  relate  the 
incidents  of  the  night  before,  of  the  affair 
of  the  24th;  hear  them  grumble  at  the  high 
price  of  the  badly  cooked  cutlets,  and  men- 
tion the  comrade  recently  killed. 

"  Devil  take  me !  we  are  badly  off  where 
we  are  now,"  says  the  bass  voice  of  a  pale, 
blond,  beardless,  newly  appointed  officer,  his 
neck  wTapped  in  a  green  knit  scarf. 

"  Where  is  that  T  some  one  asks. 

"  In  the  fourth  bastion,"  replies  the  young 
officer;  and  at  this  reply  you  attentively 
look  at  him,  and  feel  a  certain  respect  for 
him.  His  exasf aerated  carelessness,  his  vio- 
lent  gestures,  his  too  loud  laughter,  which 
would  shortly  before  have  seemed  to  you 
impudent,  become  in  your  eyes  the  index  of 


JO  Sebastopol. 

a  certain  kind  of  combative  spirit  common 
to  all  young  people  who  are  exposed  to 
great  danger,  and  you  are  sure  he  is  going 
to  explain  that  it  is  on  account  of  the  shells 
and  the  bullets  that  they  are  so  badly  off  in 
the  fourth  bastion.  Nothing  of  the  kind ! 
They  are  badly  off  there  because  the  mud 
is  deep. 

"  Impossible  to  get  up  to  the  battery,"  he 
says,  pointing  to  his  boots,  muddied  even  to 
the  upper-leathers. 

"  My  best  gun  captain  was  instantly  killed 
to-day  by  a  ball  in  his  forehead,"  rejoins  a 
comrade. 

"  Who  was  it .?     Mituchine  .?" 

"  No,  another  man. — Look  here  !  are  you 
never  going  to  bring  me  my  chop,  you  vil- 
lain T  says  he,  speaking  to  the  waiter. — "  It 
was  Abrossinoff,  as  brave  a  man  as  lived. 
He  took  part  in  six  sorties." 

At  the  other  end  of  the  table  two  infan- 
try officers  are  eating  veal  cutlets  with  green 
pease  washed  down  by  sour  Crimean  wine, 
by  courtesy  called  Bordeaux.  One  of  them, 
a  young  man  with  red  collar  and  two  stars 
on  his  coat,  is  telling  to  his  neighbor  with 
a  black  collar  and  no  stars  the  details  of  the 


December,  iS^^.  ji 

fight  on  the  Alma.  The  first  is  a  little  the 
worse  for  liquor.  His  frequently  interrupt- 
ed tale,  his  uncertain  look,  which  reflects  the 
lack  of  confidence  which  his  story  inspires 
in  his  auditor,  the  fine  part  he  gives  himself, 
the  too  high  color  of  his  picture,  lead  you 
to  guess  that  he  is  wandering  away  from 
the  absolute  truth.  But  you  haven't  any- 
thing to  do  with  these  tales,  which  you  will 
hear  for  a  long  time  yet  in  the  farthest  cor- 
ners of  Russia;  you  have  one  wish  alone, 
that  is,  to  go  straight  to  the  fourth  bastion, 
which  you  have  heard  so  many  and  so  va- 
ried reports  about.  You  will  notice  that 
whoever  tells  you  he  has  been  there  says  it 
with  pride  and  satisfaction ;  that  w^hoever  is 
getting  ready  to  go  there  either  shows  a  lit- 
tle emotion  or  affects  an  exaggerated  sa7tg- 
froid.  If  one  man  is  joking  with  another, 
he  will  invariably  tell  him,  "Go  to  the  fourth 
bastion  !"  If  a  wounded  man  on  a  stretcher 
is  met,  and  he  is  asked  where  he  comes  from, 
he  will  answer,  almost  without  fail,  "  From 
the  fourth  bastion !"  Two  completely  dif- 
ferent notions  of  this  terrible  earthwork  have 
been  circulated;  the  first  by  those  who  have 
never  put  their  foot  upon  it,  and  for  whom 


J2  Sebastopol. 

it  is  the  inevitable  tomb  of  its  defenders,  the 
second  by  those  who,  like  the  little  blond 
officer,  liv^e  there  and  simply  speak  of  it,  say- 
ing it  is  dry  or  muddy  there,  warm  or  cold. 
During  the  half  hour  you  have  been  in  the 
restaurant  the  weather  has  changed  and  the 
fog  which  spread  over  the  sea  has  risen. 
Thick,  gray,  moist  clouds  hide  the  sun. 
The  sky  is  gloomy,  and  a  fine  rain  mixed 
with  snow  is  falling,  wetting  the  roofs,  the 
sidewalks,  and  the  soldiers'  overcoats.  After 
passing  one  more  barricade  you  go  along  up 
the  broad  street.  There  are  no  more  shop- 
signs  ;  the  houses  are  uninhabitable,  the 
doors  fastened  up  with  boards,  the  windows 
broken.  On  this  side  the  corner  of  a  wall 
has  been  carried  away,  on  that  side  the  roof 
has  been  broken  in.  The  buildings  look 
like  old  veterans  tried  by  grief  and  mis- 
ery, and  stare  at  you  with  pride,  one  might 
say  with  disdain  even.  On  the  way  you 
stumble  over  cannon-balls  and  into  holes, 
filled  with  water,  which  the  shells  have  made 
in  the  rocky  ground.  You  pass  detach- 
ments of  soldiers  and  officers.  You  occa- 
sionally meet  a  woman  or  a  child,  but  here 
the  woman  does  not  wear  a  hat.     As  for  the 


December,  i8^^.  jj 

sailor's  wife,  she  wears  an  old  fur  cloak,  and 
has  soldiers'  boots  on  her  feet.  The  street 
now  leads  down  a  gentle  declivity,  but  there 
are  no  more  houses  around  you,  nothing 
but  shapeless  masses  of  stones,  of  boards,  of 
beams,  and  of  clay.  Before  you,  on  a  steep 
hill,  stretches  a  black  space,  all  muddy,  and 
cut  up  with  ditches.  What  you  are  look- 
ing at  is  the  fourth  bastion. 

Passers  become  rare,  no  more  women  are 
met.  The  soldiers  walk  with  rapid  step. 
A  few  drops  of  blood  stain  the  path,  and  you 
see  coming  towards  you  four  soldiers  bear- 
ing a  stretcher,  and  on  the  stretcher  a  face 
of  a  sallow  paleness  and  a  bloody  coat.  If 
you  ask  the  bearers  where  he  is  wounded, 
they  will  reply,  with  an  irritated  tone,  with- 
out looking  at  you,  that  he  has  been  hit  on 
the  arm  or  on  the  leg.  If  his  head  has 
been  carried  away,  if  he  is  dead,  they  will 
keep  a  morose  silence. 

The  near  whiz  of  balls  and  shells  Gfives 
you  a  disagreeable  impression  while  you  are 
climbing  the  hill,  and  suddenly  you  have  an 
entirely  different  idea  from  the  one  you  re- 
cently had  of  the  meaning  of  the  cannon- 
shots  heard  in  the  city.  I  do  not  know 
3 


J  4  Sebasiopol. 

what  placid  and  sweet  souvenir  will  sudden- 
ly shine  out  in  your  memory.  Your  intimate 
ego  will  occupy  you  so  actively  that  you  will 
no  longer  think  of  noticing  your  surround- 
ings. You  will  permit  yourself  to  be  over- 
come by  a  painful  feeling  of  irresolution. 
However,  the  sight  of  a  soldier  who,  with 
extended  arms,  is  slipping  down  the  hill  in 
the  liquid  mud,  and  passes  near  you,  running 
and  laughing,  silences  your  small  inward 
voice,  the  cowardly  counsellor  which  arises 
in  you  in  the  presence  of  danger.  You 
straighten  up  in  spite  of  yourself,  you  raise 
your  head,  and  you,  in  your  turn,  scale  the 
slippery  slope  of  the  clay  hill.  You  have 
scarcely  gone  a  step  before  musket -balls 
hum  in  your  ears,  and  you  ask  yourself  if  it 
would  not  be  preferable  to  go  under  cover 
of  the  trench  thrown  up  parallel  with  the 
path.  But  the  trench  is  full  of  a  yellow, 
fetid,  liquid  mud,  so  that  you  are  obliged  to 
go  on  in  the  path ;  all  the  more  since  it  is 
the  way  everybody  goes.  At  the  end  of 
two  hundred  paces  you  come  out  on  a  place 
surrounded  by  gabions,  embankments,  shel- 
ters, platforms  supporting  enormous  cast- 
iron    cannon,  and  heaps   of  symmetrically 


December,  18^4.  j>5 

piled  cannon-balls.  These  heaps  of  things 
give  you  the  impression  of  a  strange  and 
aimless  disorder.  Here  on  the  battery  as- 
sembles a  group  of  sailors ;  there  in  the 
middle  of  the  enclosure  lies  a  dismount- 
ed cannon,  half  buried  in  the  sticky  mud, 
through  which  an  infantryman,  musket  in 
hand,  is  going  to  the  battery,  pulling  out 
with  difficulty  first  one  foot  and  then  the 
other.  Everywhere  in  this  liquid  mud 
you  see  broken  glass,  unexploded  shells, 
cannon-balls  —  every  trace  of  camp  life. 
You  seem  to  hear  the  noise  of  a  cannon- 
ball  falling  only  two  yards  away,  and  from 
all  sides  come  the  sound  of  balls,  which 
sometimes  hum  like  bees,  sometimes  groan 
and  split  the  air,  which  vibrates  like  a  violin- 
string,  the  whole  dominated  by  the  sinister 
rumbling  of  cannon,  which  shakes  you  from 
head  to  foot  and  fills  you  with  terror. 

This  is,  then,  the  fourth  bastion,  this  real- 
ly terrible  place,  you  say  to  yourself,  feeling 
a  little  pride  and  a  great  deal  of  repressed 
fear.  Not  at  all !  You  are  the  sport  of  an 
illusion.  This  is  not  yet  the  fourth  bastion  ; 
it  is  the  Jason  redoubt,  a  place  which,  com- 
paratively, is  neither  dangerous  nor  fright- 


j6  Scbasiopol. 

ful.  In  order  to  reach  the  fourth  bastion 
you  enter  the  narrow  trench  which  the  in- 
fantryman follows,  stooping  over.  You  will 
perhaps  see  more  stretchers,  sailors,  soldiers 
with  spades,  wires  leading  to  the  mines, 
earth -shelters  equally  muddy,  into  which 
only  two  men  can  crawl,  and  where  the  bat- 
talions of  the  Black  Sea  Sharpshooters  live, 
eat,  smoke,  and  put  their  boots  on  and  off, 
in  the  midst  of  the  debris  of  cast-iron  of  ev- 
ery form  thrown  here  and  there.  You  will 
perhaps  find  here  four  or  five  sailors  playing 
cards  in  the  shelter  of  the  parapet,  and  a 
naval  officer,  who,  seeing  a  new  face  come 
up,  and  a  spectator  at  that,  will  be  really 
pleased  to  initiate  you  into  the  details  of  the 
arrangements  and  give  you  an  explanation 
of  them.  This  officer,  seated  on  a  cannon, 
is  rolling  a  cigarette  with  such  coolness, 
passes  so  quietly  from  one  embrasure  to  an- 
other, and  talks  with  you  with  such  natural 
calmness,  that  you  recover  your  own  sang- 
froid^ in  spite  of  the  balls  which  are  whist- 
ling here  in  greater  numbers.  You  ask  him 
questions,  and  even  listen  to  his  tales.  The 
sailor  will  describe  to  you,  if  you  will  only 
ask  him,  the  bombardment  of  the  5th,  the 


Decefuber,  18^4.  jy 

state  of  his  battery  with  a  single  serviceable 
cannon,  his  men  reduced  to  eight,  and,  more- 
over, on  the  morning  of  the  6th,  the  battery- 
fired  with  every  gun.  He  will  tell  you  also 
how,  on  the  5th,  a  shell  penetrated  a  bomb- 
proof and  struck  down  eleven  sailors.  He 
will  show  you,  through  the  embrasure,  the 
enemy's  trenches  and  batteries,  which  are 
only  thirty  or  forty  fathoms  distant.  I  fear, 
however,  that,  leaning  out  of  the  embrasure 
in  order  to  examine  the  enemy  better,  you 
will  see  nothing,  or  that,  if  you  perceive 
something,  you  will  be  very  much  surprised 
to  learn  that  this  white  and  rocky  rampart 
a  few  steps  away,  and  from  which  are  spout- 
ing little  clouds  of  smoke,  is  really  the  en- 
emy—  "///;;2,"  as  the  soldiers  and  sailors 
say. 

It  is  very  possible  that  the  ofHcer,  either 
through  vanity  or  simply,  without  reflection, 
to  amuse  himself,  will  be  willing  to  have 
them  fire  for  you.  At  his  order  the  captain 
of  the  gun  and  the  men,  fourteen  sailors  all 
told,  gayly  approach  the  cannon  to  load  it, 
some  chewing  biscuit,  others  cramming  their 
short  pipes  in  their  pockets,  while  their  hob- 
nailed shoes  clatter  on  the  platform.     No- 


^8  Sebastopol, 

tice  the  faces  of  these  men,  their  bearing, 
their  movements,  and  you  will  recognize  in 
each  of  the  wrinkles  of  their  sunburned  faces 
with  high  cheek-bones,  in  each  muscle,  in 
the  breadth  of  the  shoulders,  in  the  thick- 
ness of  the  feet  shod  with  colossal  boots,  in 
each  calm  and  bold  gesture,  the  principal 
elements  that  make  up  the  strength  of  Rus- 
sia—  simplicity  and  obstinacy.  You  will 
also  see  that  danger,  misery,  and  suffering 
in  the  war  will  have  imprinted  on  these 
faces  the  consciousness  of  their  dignity,  of 
high  thoughts,  of  a  sentiment. 

Suddenly  a  deafening  noise  makes  you 
quake  from  head  to  foot.  You  hear  at  the 
same  instant  the  shot  whistling  away,  while 
a  thick  powder-smoke  envelops  the  platform 
and  the  black  figures  of  sailors  moving 
about.  Listen  to  their  conversation,  notice 
their  animation,  and  you  w411  discover  among 
them  a  feeling  which  you  would  not  expect 
to  meet — that  of  hatred  of  the  enemy,  of 
vencreance.  "  It  fell  straisrht  into  the  em- 
brasure ;  two  killed.  Look !  they  are  car- 
rying them  away,"  and  they  shout  for  joy. 
"  But  he  is  getting  angry  now,  he  is  going 
to  hit  back,"  says  a  voice,  and  in  truth  you 


December^  18^4.  jg 

see  at  the  same  instant  a  flash  and  spurting 
smoke,  and  the  sentinel  on  the  parapet  calls, 
"  Cannon  !"  A  ball  whizzes  in  your  ears 
and  buries  itself  in  the  ground,  digging  it 
up  and  casting  around  a  shower  of  earth 
and  stones.  The  commander  of  the  battery 
gets  angry,  renews  the  order  to  load  a  sec- 
ond, a  third  gun.  The  enemy  replies,  and 
you  experience  interesting  sensations.  The 
sentinel  again  calls,  "  Cannon !"  and  the  same 
sound,  the  same  blow,  and  the  same  throw- 
ing up  of  earth  are  repeated.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  cries,  "  Mortar !''  you  will  be 
struck  by  a  regular,  not  disagreeable  hiss- 
ing, which  has  no  connection  in  your  mind 
with  anything  terrible.  It  comes  nearer  and 
with  greater  rapidity.  You  see  the  black 
ball  fall  to  the  ground,  and  the  bomb-shell 
burst  with  a  metallic  cracking.  The  pieces 
fly  in  air,  w^iistling  and  screeching ;  stones 
hit  each  other,  and  mud  splashes  over  you. 
You  feel  a  strange  mixture  of  pleasure  and 
fright  at  these  different  sounds.  At  the 
instant  the  projectile  reaches  you,  you  in- 
variably think  it  will  kill  you.  But  pride 
keeps  you  up,  and  no  one  notices  the  dag- 
ger that  is  digging  into  your  heart.     So 


40  SebastopoL 

when  it  has  passed  without  grazing  you, 
you  live  again ;  for  an  instant  a  feeling  of 
indescribable  sweetness  possesses  you  to 
such  a  degree  that  you  find  a  special  charm 
in  danger,  in  the  game  of  life  and  death. 
You  would  like  to  have  a  ball  or  a  shell  fall 
nearer,  very  near  you.  But  the  sentinel  an- 
nounces with  his  strong,  full  voice,  '*  Mor- 
tar!" The  hissing,  the  blow,  the  explosion 
are  repeated,  but  accompanied  this  time  by 
a  human  groan.  You  go  up  to  the  wound- 
ed man  at  the  same  time  with  the  stretcher- 
bearers.  He  has  a  strange  look,  lying  in 
the  mud  mingled  with  his  blood.  Part  of 
his  chest  has  been  carried  away.  In  the 
first  moment  his  mud-splashed  face  express- 
es only  fright  and  the  premature  sensation 
of  pain,  a  feeling  familiar  to  man  in  this  sit- 
uation. But  when  thev  brin^  the  stretcher 
to  him,  and  he  unassisted  lies  down  on  it  on 
his  uninjured  side,  an  exalted  expression, 
elevated  but  restrained  thoughts,  enliven  his 
features.  With  brilliant  eyes  and  shut  teeth 
he  raises  his  head  with  an  effort,  and  at  the 
moment  the  stretcher-bearers  move  he  stops 
them,  and  addressing  his  comrades  with 
trembling  voice,  says,  "  Good-by,  brothers  !" 


December^  i8^^.  ^i 

He  would  like  to  say  something  more,  he 
seems  to  be  trying  to  find  something  touch- 
ing to  say,  but  he  limits  himself  to  repeat- 
ing, "  Good-by,  brothers  !"  A  comrade  ap- 
proaches the  wounded  man,  puts  his  cap  on 
his  head  for  him,  and  turns  back  to  his  can- 
non with  a  gesture  of  perfect  indifference. 
At  the  sight  of  your  terrified  expression  of 
face  the  officer,  yawning,  and  rolling  between 
his  fingers  a  cigarette  in  yellow  paper,  says, 
"  So  it  is  every  day,  up  to  seven  or  eight 
men." 

You  have  just  seen  the  defenders  of  Se- 
bastopol  on  the  very  place  of  the  defence, 
and,  strange  to  say,  you  will  retrace  your 
steps  without  paying  the  least  attention  to 
the  bullets  and  balls  which  continue  to  whis- 
tle the  whole  length  of  the  road  as  far  as 
the  ruins  of  the  theatre.  You  walk  with 
calmness,  your  soul  elevated  and  strength- 
ened, for  you  bring  away  the  consoling  con- 
viction that  never,  and  in  no  place,  can  the 
strength  of  the  Russian  people  be  broken ; 
and  you  have  gained  this  conviction  not 
from  the  solidity  of  the  parapets,  from  the  in- 
geniously combined  intrenchments,from  the 
number  of  mines,  from  the  cannon  heaped 


42  SebastopoL 

one  on  the  other,  and  all  of  which  you 
have  not  in  the  least  understood,  but  from 
the  eyes,  the  words,  the  bearing,  from  what 
may  be  called  the  spirit  of  the  defenders  of 
Sebastopol. 

There  is  so  much  simplicity  and  so  little 
effort  in  what  they  do  that  you  are  per- 
suaded that  they  could,  if  it  were  necessary, 
do  a  hundred  times  more,  that  they  could 
do  everything.  You  judge  that  the  senti- 
ment that  impels  them  is  not  the  one  you 
have  experienced,  mean  and  vain,  but  anoth- 
er and  more  powerful  one,  which  has  made 
men  of  them,  living  tranquilly  in  the  mud, 
working  and  watching  among  the  bullets, 
with  a  hundred  chances  to  one  of  beino: 
killed,  contrary  to  the  common  lot  of  their 
kind.  It  is  not  for  a  cross,  for  rank ;  it  is 
not  that  they  are  threatened  into  submit- 
ting to  such  terrible  conditions  of  existence. 
There  must  be  another,  a  higher  motive 
power.  This  motive  power  is  found  in  a 
sentiment  which  rarely  shows  itself,  which 
is  concealed  with  modesty,  but  which  is  deep- 
ly rooted  in  every  Russian  heart — patriot- 
ism. It  is  now  only  that  the  tales  that  cir- 
culated during  the  first  period  of  the  siege 


December,  18^4.  4  J 

of  Sebastopol,  when  there  were  neither 
fortifications,  nor  troops,  nor  material  pos- 
sibility of  holding  out  there,  and  when, 
moreover,  no  one  admitted  the  thought  of 
surrender — it  is  now  only  that  the  anecdote 
of  Korniloff,  that  hero  worthy  of  antique 
Greece,  who  said  to  his  troops,  "  Children, 
we  will  die,  but  we  will  not  surrender  Se- 
bastopol," and  the  reply  of  our  brave  sol- 
diers, incapable  of  using  set  speeches,  "  We 
will  die,  hurrah  !" — it  is  now  only  that  these 
stories  have  ceased  to  be  to  you  beautiful 
historical  legends,  since  they  have  become 
truth,  facts.  You  will  easily  picture  to  your- 
self, in  the  place  of  those  you  have  just  seen, 
the  heroes  of  this  period  of  trial,  who  never 
lost  courage,  and  who  joyfully  prepared  to 
die,  not  for  the  defence  of  the  city,  but  for 
the  defence  of  the  country.  Russia  will  long 
preserve  the  sublime  traces  of  the  epoch  of 
Sebastopol,  of  which  the  Russian  people 
were  the  heroes ! 

Day  closes ;  the  sun,  disappearing  at  the 
horizon,  shines  through  the  gray  clouds 
which  surround  it,  and  lights  up  with  pur- 
ple rays  the  rippling  sea  with  its  green  re- 
flections, covered  with  ships  and  boats,  the 


44  Sebastopol. 

white  houses  of  the  city,  and  the  population 
stirring  there.  On  the  boulevard  a  regi- 
mental band  is  playing  an  old  waltz,  which 
sounds  far  over  the  water,  and  to  which  the 
cannonade  of  the  bastions  forms  a  strange 
and  striking  accompaniment. 


SEBASTOPOL  IN  MA  V,  1833 


SEBASTOPOL  IN  MA  V,  1855. 

Six  months  had  rolled  by  since  the  first 
bomb-shell  thrown  from  the  bastions  of  Se- 
bastopol  ploughed  up  the  soil  and  cast  it 
upon  the  enemy's  works.  Since  that  time 
millions  of  bombs,  bullets,  and  balls  had 
never  ceased  flying  from  bastions  to  trench- 
es, from  trenches  to  bastions,  and  the  angel 
of  death  had  constantly  hovered  over  them. 

The  self-love  of  thousands  of  human  be- 
ings had  been  sometimes  wounded,  some- 
times satisfied,  sometimes  soothed  in  the 
embrace  of  death  !  What  numbers  of  red 
coffins  with  coarse  palls! — and  the  bastions 
still  continued  to  roar.  The  French  in  their 
camp,  moved  by  an  involuntary  feeling  of 
anxiety  and  terror,  examined  in  the  soft  even- 
ing light  the  yellow  and  burrowed  earth  of 
the  bastions  of  Sebastopol,  where  the  black 
silhouettes  of  our  sailors  came  and  went;  they 
counted  the  embrasures  bristling  with  fierce- 
looking  cannon.    On  the  telegraph  tower  an 


4^  Sebastopol. 

under-officer  was  watchino:  throusfh  his  field- 
glass  the  enemy's  soldiers,  their  batteries, 
their  tents,  the  movements  of  their  troops 
on  the  Mamelon-Vert,  and  the  smoke  ascend- 
ing from  the  trenches.  A  crowd  composed 
of  heterogeneous  races,  moved  by  quite  dif- 
ferent desires,  converged  from  all  parts  of 
the  world  towards  this  fatal  spot.  Powder 
and  blood  had  not  succeeded  in  solvinor  the 
question  which  diplomats  could  not  settle. 


A  regimental  band  was  playing  in  the  be- 
sieged city  of  Sebastopol;  a  crowd  of  sol- 
diers and  women  in  Sunday  best  was  prom- 
enading in  the  avenues.  The  clear  sun  of 
spring  had  risen  upon  the  English  works, 
had  passed  over  the  fortifications,  over  the 
city,  and  over  the  Nicholas  barracks,  shed- 
ding everywhere  its  just  and  joyous  light; 
now  it  was  setting  into  the  blue  distance  of 
the  sea,  which  gently  rippled,  sparkling  with 
silvery  reflections. 

An  infantry  officer  of  tall  stature  and 
with  a  slight  stoop,  busy  putting  on  gloves 
of  doubtful  whiteness,  though  still  presenta- 
ble, came  out  of  one   of  the  small  sailor- 


May,  iSs5'  49 

houses  built  on  the  left  side  of  Marine 
Street.  He  directed  his  steps  towards  the 
boulevard,  fixing  his  eyes  in  a  distracted 
manner  on  the  toe  of  his  boots.  The  ex- 
pression of  his  ill-favored  face  did  not  de- 
note a  high  intellectual  capacity,  but  traits 
of  good-fellowship,  good  sense,  honesty,  and 
love  of  order  were  to  be  plainly  recognized 
there.  He  was  not  well-built,  and  seemed 
to  feel  some  confusion  at  the  awkwardness 
of  his  own  motions.  He  had  a  well-worn 
cap  on  his  head,  and  on  his  shoulders  a  light 
cloak  of  a  curious  purplish  color,  under 
which  could  be  seen  his  watch-chain,  his 
trousers  with  straps,  and  his  clean  and  well- 
polished  boots.  If  his  features  had  not 
clearly  indicated  his  pure  Russian  origin 
he  would  have  been  taken  for  a  German, 
for  an  aide-de-camp,  or  for  a  regimental  bag- 
gage-master— he  wore  no  spurs,  to  be  sure — 
or  for  one  of  those  cavalry  officers  who  have 
been  exchanged  in  order  to  take  active  serv- 
ice. In  fact,  he  was  one  of  the  latter,  and 
while  going  up  to  the  boulevard  he  was 
thinking  of  a  letter  he  had  just  received 
from  an  ex-comrade,  now  a  landholder  in 
the  Government  of  F ;  he  was  thinking 

4 


50  Sebastopol. 

of  his  comrade's  wife,  pale,  blue-eyed  Nata- 
cha,  his  best  friend;  he  was  especially  re- 
calling the  following  passage  : 

"  When  they  bring  us  the  Invalide* 
Poupka  (that  was  the  name  the  retired 
uhlan  gave  his  wife)  rushes  into  the  ante- 
chamber, seizes  the  paper,  and  throws  her- 
self upon  the  sofa  in  the  arbor  f  in  the  par- 
lor, where  we  have  passed  so  many  pleasant 
winter  evenings  in  your  company  while 
your  regiment  was  in  garrison  in  our  city. 
You  can't  imagine  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  she  reads  the  story  of  your  heroic 
exploits!  '  Mikhailoff,'  she  often  says  in 
speaking  of  you, '  is  a  pearl  of  a  man,  and  I 
shall  throw  myself  on  his  neck  when  I  see 
him  again !  He  is  fighting  in  the  bastions,  he 
is!  He  will  get  the  cross  of  St.  George, 
and  the  newspapers  will  be  full  of  him.'  In- 
deed, I  am  beginning  to  be  jealous  of  you. 
It  takes  the  papers  a  very  long  time  to  get 
to  us,  and  although  a  thousand  bits  of  news 
fiy  from  mouth  to  mouth,  we  can't  believe 
all    of    them.      For    example:    your    good 

*  The  Military  Gazette.— Trans. 

t  A  sort  of  arbor  covered  with  ivy  was  then  used  in 
most  fashionable  parlors. — Trans. 


May,  iSsS'  5^ 

friends  the  musical  girls  related  yesterday 
how  Napoleon,  taken  prisoner  by  our  cos- 
sacks,  had  been  brought  to  Petersburg — you 
understand  that  I  couldn't  believe  that! 
Then  one  of  the  officials  of  the  war  office,  a 
fine  fellow,  and  a  great  addition  to  society 
now  our  little  town  is  deserted,  assured  us 
that  our  troops  had  occupied  Eupatoria, 
thtis  preventing  the  French  from  comimmica- 
ting  with  Balaklava;  that  we  lost  two  hun- 
dred men  in  this  business,  and  they  about 
fifteen  thousand.  My  wife  was  so  much 
deli o-h ted  at  this  that  she  celebrated  it  all 
night  long,  and  she  has  a  feeling  that  you 
took  part  in  the  action  and  distinguished 
yourself." 

In  spite  of  these  words,  in  spite  of  the  ex- 
pressions which  I  have  put  in  italics  and 
the  general  tone  of  the  letter.  Captain  Mi- 
khailoff  took  a  sweet  and  sad  satisfaction  in 
imagining  himself  with  his  pale,  provincial 
lady  friend.  He  recalled  their  evening  con- 
versations on  sentiment  in  the  parlor  arbor, 
and  how  his  brave  comrade,  the  ex-uhlan, 
became  vexed  and  disputed  over  games  of 
cards  with  kopek  stakes  when  they  succeed- 
ed in  starting  a  game  in  his  study,  and  how 


5^  Sebastopol. 

his  wife  joked  him  about  it.  He  recalled 
the  friendship  these  good  people  had  shown 
for  him ;  and  perhaps  there  was  something 
more  than  friendship  on  the  side  of  the  pale 
friend  !  All  these  pictures  in  their  familiar 
frames  arose  in  his  imagination  with  mar- 
vellous softness.  He  saw  them  in  a  rosy 
atmosphere,  and,  smiling  at  them,  he  han- 
dled affectionately  the  letter  in  the  bottom 
of  his  pocket. 

These  memories  brought  the  captain  in- 
voluntarily back  to  his  hopes,  to  his  dreams. 
"  Imagine,"  he  thought, as  he  went  along  the 
narrow  alley,  "  Natacha's  joy  and  astonish- 
ment when  she  reads  in  the  Invalide  that  I 
have  been  the  first  to  get  possession  of  a 
cannon,  and  have  received  the  Saint  Georee! 
I  shall  be  promoted  to  be  captain-major:  I 
was  proposed  for  it  a  long  time  ago.  It 
will  then  be  very  easy  for  me  to  get  to  be 
chief  of  an  army  battalion  in  the  course  of 
a  year,  for  many  among  us  have  been  killed, 
and  many  others  will  be  during  this  cam- 
paign. Then,  in  the  next  battle,  when  I 
have  made  myself  well  known,  they  will  in- 
trust a  regiment  to  me,  and  I  shall  become 
lieutenant-colonel,  commander  of  the  Order 


May,  i8s5'  53 

of  Saint  Anne — then  colonel — "  He  was 
already  imagining  himself  general,  honoring 
with  his  presence  Natacha,  his  comrade's 
widow — for  his  friend  would,  according  to 
the  dream,  have  to  die  about  this  time — 
when  the  sound  of  the  band  came  distinctly 
to  his  ears.  A  crowd  of  promenaders  at- 
tracted his  gaze,  and  he  came  to  himself  on 
the  boulevard  as  before,  second -captain  of 
infantry. 

II. 

He  first  approached  the  pavilion,  by  the 
side  of  which  several  musicians  were  play- 
ing. Other  soldiers  of  the  same  regiment 
served  as  music-stands  by  holding  before 
them  the  open  music -books,  and  a  small 
circle  surrounded  them,  quartermasters,  un- 
der-ofhcers,  nurses,  and  children,  engaged  in 
watching  rather  than  in  listening.  Around 
the  pavilion  marines,  aides-de-camp,  officers 
in  white  gloves  were  standing,  were  sitting, 
or  promenading.  Farther  off  in  the  broad 
avenue  could  be  seen  a  confused  crowd  of 
officers  of  every  branch  of  the  service,  wom- 
en of  every  class,  some  with  bonnets  on,  the 
majority  with  kerchiefs  on  their  heads ;  oth- 


54  Sebastopol. 

ers  wore  neither  bonnets  nor  kerchiefs,  but, 
astonishing  to  relate,  there  were  no  old 
women,  all  were  young.  Below  in  fragrant 
paths  shaded  by  white  acacias  were  seen 
isolated  groups,  seated  and  walking. 

No  one  expressed  any  particular  joy  at 
the  sight  of  Captain  Mikhailoff,  with  the  ex- 
ception, perhaps,  of  Objogoff  and  Souslikoff, 
captains  in  his  regiment,  who  shook  his 
hand  warmly.  But  the  first  of  the  two  had 
no  gloves ;  he  wore  trousers  of  camel's-hair 
cloth,  a  shabby  coat,  and  his  red  face  was 
covered  with  perspiration  ;  the  second  spoke 
with  too  loud  a  voice,  and  with  shocking 
freedom  of  speech.  It  was  not  very  flatter- 
ing to  walk  with  these  men,  especially  in 
the  presence  of  officers  in  white  gloves. 
Among  the  latter  was  an  aide-de-camp,  with 
whom  Mikhailoff  exchanged  salutes,  and  a 
staff-officer  whom  he  could  have  saluted  as 
well,  having  seen  him  a  couple  of  times  at 
the  quarters  of  a  common  friend. 

There  was  positively  no  pleasure  in  prom- 
enading with  these  two  comrades,  whom  he 
met  five  or  six  times  a  day,  and  shook  hands 
with  them  each  time.  He  did  not  come  to 
the  band  concert  for  that. 


May,  i8s5'  55 

He  would  have  liked  to  go  up  to  the 
aide-de-camp  with  whom  he  exchanged  sa- 
lutes, and  to  chat  with  those  gentlemen,  not 
in  order  that  Captains  Objogoff,  Souslikoff, 
Lieutenant  Paschtezky,  and  others  might 
see  him  in  conversation  with  them,  but  sim- 
ply because  they  were  agreeable,  well-in- 
formed people  who  could  tell  him  some- 
thing. 

Why  is  Mikhailoff  afraid  ?  and  why  can't 
he  make  up  his  mind  to  go  up  to  them  ? 
It  is  because  he  distrustfully  asks  himself 
what  he  will  do  if  these  gentlemen  do  not 
return  his  salute,  if  they  continue  to  chat  to- 
gether, pretending  not  to  see  him,  and  if 
they  go  away,  leaving  him  alone  among  the 
aristocrats.  The  word  aristocrat,  taken  in 
the  sense  of  a  particular  group,  selected  with 
great  care,  belonging  to  every  class  of  soci- 
ety, has  lately  gained  a  great  popularity 
among  us  in  Russia — where  it  never  ought 
to  have  taken  root.  It  has  entered  into  all 
the  social  strata  where  vanity  has  crept  in 
— and  where  does  not  this  pitiable  weakness 
creep  in  ?  Everywhere ;  among  the  mer- 
chants, the  officials,  the  quartermasters,  the 
officers;  at  Saratoff,  at  Mamadisch,  at  Vi- 


5^  Scbastopol. 

nitzy  —  everywhere,  in  a  word,  where  men 
are.  Now,  since  there  are  many  men  in  a 
besieged  city  Hke  Sebastopol,  there  is  also  a 
great  deal  of  vanity ;  that  is  to  say,  aristo- 
crats are  there  in  large  numbers,  although 
death,  the  great  leveller,  hovers  constantly 
over  the  head  of  each  man,  be  he  aristo- 
crat or  not. 

To  Captain  Objogoff,  Second- captain 
Mikhailoff  is  an  aristocrat;  to  Second- 
captain  Mikhai'loff,  Aide-de-camp  Kalou- 
guine  is  an  aidstocrat,  because  he  is  aide-de- 
camp, and  says  thee  and  thou  familiarly  to 
other  aides-de-camp ;  lastly,  to  Kalouguine, 
Count  Nordoff  is  an  aristocrat,  because  he 
is  aide-de-camp  of  the  Emperor. 

Vanity,  vanity,  nothing  but  vanity !  even 
in  the  presence  of  death,  and  among  men 
ready  to  die  for  an  exalted  idea.  Is  not 
vanity  the  characteristic  trait,  the  destruc- 
tive ill  of  our  age  ?  Why  has  this  weakness 
not  been  recognized  hitherto,  just  as  small- 
pox or  cholera  has  been  recognized  ?  Why 
in  our  time  are  there  only  three  kinds  of 
men — those  who  accept  vanity  as  an  exist- 
ing fact,  necessary,  and  consequently  just, 
and  freely  submit  to  it ;  those  who  consider 


May,  i8s5'  57 

it  an  evil  element,  but  one  impossible  to  de- 
stroy ;  and  those  who  act  under  its  influence 
with  unconscious  servility  ?  Why  have  Ho- 
mer and  Shakespeare  spoken  of  love,  of 
glory,  and  of  suffering,  while  the  literature 
of  our  century  is  only  the  interminable  his- 
tory of  snobbery  and  vanity  ? 

Mikhailoff,  not  able  to  make  up  his  mind, 
twice  passed  in  front  of  the  little  group  of 
aristocrats.  The  third  time,  making  a  vio- 
lent effort,  he  approached  them.  The  group 
was  composed  of  four  officers — the  aide-de- 
camp Kalouguine,  whom  Mikhailoff  was  ac- 
quainted with,  the  aide-de-camp  Prince  Galt- 
zine,  an  aristocrat  to  Kalouguine  himself. 
Colonel  Neferdoff,  one  of  the  Hundred  and 
Twenty-tzuo  (a  group  of  society  men  who  had 
re-entered  the  service  for  this  campaign 
were  thus  called),  lastly.  Captain  of  Cavalry 
Praskoukine,  who  was  also  among  the  Hun- 
dred and  Twenty-two.  Happily  for  Mikhai- 
loff, Kalouguine  was  in  charming  spirits ; 
the  general  had  just  spoken  very  confiden- 
tially to  him,  and  Prince  Galtzine,  fresh  from 
Petersburg,  was  stopping  in  his  quarters,  so 
he  did  not  find  it  compromising  to  offer  his 
hand  to  a  second-captain.     Praskoukine  did 


5^  SebastopoL 

not  decide  to  do  as  much,  although  he  had 
often  met  Mikhailoff  in  the  bastion,  had 
drunk  his  wine  and  his  brandy  more  than 
once,  and  owed  him  twelve  rubles  and  a 
half,  lost  at  a  game  of  preference.  Being 
only  slightly  acquainted  with  Prince  Galt- 
zine,  he  had  no  wish  to  call  his  attention  to 
his  intimacy  with  a  simple  second-captain 
of  infantry.     He  merely  saluted  slightly. 

"  Well,  captain,"  said  Kalouguine,  "  when 
are  we  going  back  to  the  little  bastion.? 
You  remember  our  meeting  on  the  Schwartz 
redoubt  ?     It  was  warm  there,  hey  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  was  warm  there,"  replied  Mikhai- 
loff,  remembering  that  night  when,  following 
the  trench  in  order  to  reach  the  bastion,  he 
had  met  Kalouguine  marching  with  a  grand 
air,  bravely  clattering  his  sword.  "  I  would 
not  have  to  return  there  until  to-morrow, 
but  we  have  an  oiificer  sick."  And  he  was 
going  on  to  relate  how,  although  it  was  not 
his  turn  on  duty,  he  thouQrht  he  ou^ht  to 
offer  to  replace  Nepchissetzky,  because  the 
commander  of  the  eighth  company  was  ill, 
and  only  an  ensign  remained,  but  Kalou- 
guine did  not  give  him  time  to  finish. 

"  I  have  a  notion,"  said  he,  turning  tow- 


\ 


May,  i8s5'  59 

ards  Prince  Galtzine,  "  that  something  will 
come  off  in  a  day  or  two." 

"  But  why  couldn't  something  come  off 
to-day?"  timidly  asked  Mikhailoif,  looking 
first  at  Kalouguine  and  then  at  Galtzine. 

No  one  replied.  ■  Galtzine  made  a  slight 
grimace,  and  looking  to  one  side  over  Mi- 
khailoff's  cap,  said,  after  a  moment's  silence, 

"  What  a  pretty  girl ! — yonder,  with  the 
red  kerchief.     Do  you  know  her, captain.'*" 

"  It  is  a  sailor's  daughter.  She  lives  close 
by  me,"  he  replied. 

"  Let's  look  at  her  closer," 

And  Prince  Galtzine  took  Kalouguine  by 
the  arm  on  one  side  and  the  second-captain 
on  the  other,  sure  that  by  this  action  he 
would  give  the  latter  a  lively  satisfaction. 
He  was  not  deceived.  Mikhailoff  was  super- 
stitious, and  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
women  before  going  under  fire  was  in  his 
eyes  a  great  sin.  But  on  that  day  he  was 
posing  for  a  libertine.  Neither  Kalouguine 
nor  Galtzine  was  deceived  by  this,  however. 
The  girl  with  the  red  kerchief  was  very 
much  astonished,  having  more  than  once 
noticed  that  the  captain  blushed  as  he  was 
passing  her  window.    Praskoukine  marched 


6o  Sebasiopol. 

behind  and  nudged  Galtzine,  making  all 
sorts  of  remarks  in  French ;  but  the  path 
being  too  narrow  for  them  to  march  four 
abreast,  he  was  obliged  to  fall  behind,  and  in 
the  second  file  to  take  Serviaguine's  arm — 
a  naval  officer  known  for  his  exceptional  bra- 
very, and  very  anxious  to  join  the  group  of 
aristocrats.  This  brave  man  gladly  linked 
his  honest  and  muscular  hand  into  Praskou- 
kine's  arm,  whom  he  knew,  nevertheless, 
to  be  not  quite  honorable.  Explaining  to 
Prince  Galtzine  his  intimacy  with  the  sailor, 
Praskoukine  whispered  that  he  was  a  well- 
known,  brave  man;  but  Prince  Galtzine,  who 
had  been,  the  evening  before,  in  the  fourth 
bastion,  and  had  seen  a  shell  burst  twenty 
paces  from  him,  considered  himself  equal 
in  courage  to  this  gentleman  ;  also  being 
convinced  that  most  reputations  were  ex- 
aggerated, paid  no  attention  to  Serviaguine. 
Mikhailoff  was  so  happy  to  promenade  in 
this  brilliant  company  that  he  thought  no 

more  of  the  dear  letter  received  from  ¥ , 

nor  of  the  dismal  forebodings  that  assailed 
him  each  time  he  went  to  the  bastion.  He 
remained  with  them  there  until  they  had 
visibly  excluded  him  from  their  conversa- 


May,  1 8^^.  6i 

tion,  avoiding  his  eye,  as  if  to  make  him  un- 
derstand that  he  could  go  on  his  way  alone. 
At  last  they  left  him  in  the  lurch.  In  spite 
of  that,  the  second-captain  was  so  satisfied 
that  he  was  quite  indifferent  to  the  haughty 
expression  with  which  the  yunker*  Baron 
Pesth  straightened  up  and  took  off  his  hat 
before  him.  This  young  man  had  become 
very  proud  since  he  had  passed  his  first 
night  in  the  bomb-proof  of  the  fifth  bastion, 
an  experience  which,  in  his  own  eyes,  trans- 
formed him  into  a  hero. 

III. 

No  sooner  had  Mikhai'loff  crossed  his  own 
threshold  than  entirely  different  thoughts 
came  into  his  mind.  He  again  saw  his  lit- 
tle room,  where  beaten  earth  took  the  place 
of  a  wooden  floor,  his  warped  windows,  in 
which  the  broken  panes  were  replaced  by 
paper,  his  old  bed,  over  which  was  nailed  to 
the  wall  a  rug  with  the  design  of  a  figure  of 

*  A  cadet.  The  yunker  ranks  between  sergeant  and 
second-lieutenant,  and  belongs  to  the  class  of  commis- 
sioned officers.  Both  the  title  and  the  function  are  bor- 
rowed from  the  German  {Junker).  The  present  spelling 
is  adopted  to  represent  more  nearly  the  Russian  pro- 
nunciation.— Trans. 


62  Sebastopol. 

an  amazon,  his  pair  of  Toula  pistols,  hanging 
on  the  head-board,  and  on  one  side  a  second 
untidy  bed  with  an  Indian  coverlet  belong- 
ing to  the  yunker,  who  shared  his  quarters. 
He  saw  his  valet  Nikita,  who  rose  from  the 
ground  where  he  was  crouching,  scratching 
his  head  bristling  with  greasy  hair.  He  saw 
his  old  cloak,  his  second  pair  of  boots,  and 
the  bundle  prepared  for  the  night  in  the 
bastion,  wrapped  in  a  cloth  from  which  pro- 
truded the  end  of  a  piece  of  cheese  and  the 
neck  of  a  bottle  filled  with  brandy.  Sud- 
denly he  remembered  he  had  to  lead  his 
company  into  the  casemates  that  very  night. 
"  I  shall  be  killed,  I'm  sure,"  he  said  to 
himself ;  "  I  feel  it.  Besides,  I  offered  to  go 
myself,  and  one  w^ho  does  that  is  certain  to 
be  killed.  And  what  is  the  matter  with  this 
sick  man,  this  cursed  Nepchissetzky  ?  Who 
knows  ?  Perhaps  he  isn't  sick  at  all.  And, 
thanks  to  him,  a  man  will  get  killed — he'll 
get  killed,  surely.  However,  if  I  am  not 
shot  I  will  be  put  on  the  list  for  promotion. 
I  noticed  the  colonel's  satisfaction  w^ien  I 
asked  permission  to  take  the  place  of  Nep- 
chissetzky if  he  was  sick.  If  I  don  t  get 
the  rank  of  major,  I  shall  certainly  get  the 


May,  1 8s 5'  ^3 

Vladimir  Cross.  This  is  the  thirteenth  time 
I  go  on  duty  in  the  bastion.  Oh,  oh,  un- 
lucky number!  I  shall  be  killed,  I'm  sure; 
I  feel  it.  Nevertheless,  some  one  must  go. 
The  company  cannot  go  with  an  ensign ; 
and  if  anything  should  happen,  the  honor  of 
the  regiment,  the  honor  of  the  army  would 
be  assailed.  It  is  my  duty  to  go — yes,  my 
sacred  duty.  No  matter,  I  have  a  presenti- 
ment— " 

The  captain  forgot  that  he  had  this  pre- 
sentiment, more  or  less  strong,  every  time 
he  went  to  the  bastion,  and  he  did  not  know 
that  all  who  go  into  action  have  this  feeling, 
though  in  very  different  degrees.  His  sense 
of  duty  which  he  had  particularly  developed 
calmed  him,  and  he  sat  down  at  his  table 
and  wrote  a  farewell  letter  to  his  father.  In 
the  course  of  ten  minutes  the  letter  was  fin- 
ished. He  arose  with  moist  eyes,  and  began 
to  dress,  repeating  to  himself  all  the  prayers 
which  he  knew  by  heart.  His  servant,  a 
dull  fellow,  three-quarters  drunk,  helped  him 
put  on  his  new  coat,  the  old  one  he  was  ac- 
customed to  wear  in  the  bastion  not  being 
mended. 

"Why  hasn't  that   coat  been    mended.? 


6^  Sebastopol. 

You  can't  do  anything  but  sleep,  you 
beast !" 

"  Sleep!"  growled  Nikita,"  when  I  am  run- 
ning about  like  a  dog  all  day  long.  I  tire 
myself  to  death,  and  after  that  am  not  allow- 
ed to  sleep  !" 

"  You  are  drunk  again,  I  see." 

"  I  didn't  drink  with  your  money ;  why 
do  you  find  fault  with  me  T 

"  Silence,  fool !"  cried  the  captain,  ready 
to  strike  him. 

He  was  already  nervous  and  troubled, 
and  Nikita's  rudeness  made  him  lose  pa- 
tience. Nevertheless,  he  was  very  fond  of 
the  fellow,  he  even  spoiled  him,  and  had  kept 
him  with  him  a  dozen  years. 

"  Fool !  fool !"  repeated  the  servant.  "  Why 
do  you  abuse  me,  sir — and  at  this  time  '^.  It 
isn't  rioht  to  abuse  me." 

Mikhailoff  thought  of  the  place  he  was 
going  to,  and  was  ashamed  of  himself. 

"  You  would  make  a  saint  lose  patience, 
Nikita,"  he  said,  with  a  softer  voice.  "  Leave 
that  letter  addressed  to  my  father  lying  on 
the  table.  Don't  touch  it," he  added, blushing. 

"  All  right,"  said  Nikita,  weakening  under 
the  influence  of  the  wine  he  had  taken,  at 


May,  1855.  65 

his  own  expense,  as  he  said,  and  blinking 
his  eyes,  ready  to  weep. 

Then  when  the  captain  shouted,  on  leav- 
ing the  house,  "  Good-by,  Nikita !"  he  burst 
forth  in  a  violent  fit  of  sobbing,  and  seizing 
the  hand  of  his  master,  kissed  it,  howling  all 
the  while,  and  saying,  over  and  over  again, 
"Good-by,  master!" 

An  old  sailor's  wife  at  the  door,  good 
woman  as  she  was,  could  not  help  taking 
part  in  this  affecting  scene.  Rubbing  her 
eyes  with  her  dirty  sleeve,  she  mumbled 
something  about  masters  who,  on  their  side, 
have  to  put  up  with  so  much,  and  went  on  to 
relate  for  the  hundredth  time  to  the  drunk- 
en Nikita  how  she,  poor  creature,  was  left  a 
widow,  how  her  husband  had  been  killed 
during  the  first  bombardment  and  his  house 
ruined,  for  the  one  she  lived  in  now  did 
not  belong  to  her,  etc.,  etc.  After  his  mas- 
ter was  gone,  Nikita  lighted  his  pipe,  begged 
the  landlord's  daughter  to  fetch  him  some 
brandy,  quickly  wiped  his  tears,  and  ended 
up  by  quarrelling  with  the  old  woman  about 
a  little  pail  he  said  she  had  broken. 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  only  be  wounded,"  the 
captain    thought   at   nightfall,  approaching 

5 


66  Sevastopol. 

the  bastion  at  the  head  of  his  company. 
"  But  where — here  or  there  ?" 

He  placed  his  finger  first  on  his  stomach 
and  then  on  his  chest. 

"  If  it  were  only  here,"  he  thought,  point- 
ing to  the  upper  part  of  his  thigh,  "  and  if 
the  ball  passed  round  the  bone  !  But  if  it  is 
a  fracture  it's  all  over." 

Mikhailoff,  by  following  the  trenches, 
reached  the  casemates  safe  and  sound.  In 
perfect  darkness,  assisted  by  an  officer  of 
the  sappers,  he  put  his  men  to  work ;  then 
he  sat  down  in  a  hole  in  the  shelter  of  the 
parapet.  They  were  firing  only  at  inter- 
vals ;  now  and  again,  first  on  our  side  and 
then  on  his,  a  flash  blazed  forth,  and  the 
fuse  of  a  shell  traced  a  curve  of  fire  on  the 
dark,  starlit  sky.  But  the  projectiles  fell 
far  off,  behind  or  to  the  right  of  the  quar- 
ters in  which  the  captain  hid  at  the  bottom 
of  a  pit.  He  ate  a  piece  of  cheese,  drank  a 
few  drops  of  brandy,  lighted  a  cigarette,  and 
having  said  his  prayers,  tried  to  sleep. 

IV. 

Prince  Galtzine,  Lieutenant -colonel  Ne- 
ferdorf,  and    Praskoukine  —  whom    nobody 


May,  18^5.  dy 

had  invited,  and  with  whom  no  one  chatted, 
but  who  followed  them  just  the  same — left 
the  boulevard  to  go  and  drink  tea  at  Kalou- 
guine's  quarters. 

"  Finish  your  story  about  Vaska  Mendel," 
said  Kalouguine. 

Having  thrown  off  his  cloak,  he  was  sit- 
ting beside  the  window  in  a  stuffed  easy- 
chair,  and  unbuttoned  the  collar  of  his  well- 
starched,  fine  Dutch  linen  shirt. 

"  How  did  he  get  married  again .?" 

"  It's  worth  any  amount  of  money,  I  tell 
you  !  There  was  a  time  when  there  was 
nothing  else  talked  about  at  Petersburg," 
replied  Prince  Galtzine,  laughingly. 

He  left  the  piano  where  he  had  been  sit- 
ting, and  drew  near  the  window. 

"  It's  worth  any  amount  of  money!  I  know 
all  the  details — " 

And  gayly  and  wittily  he  set  about  relat- 
ing the  story  of  an  amorous  intrigue,  which 
we  will  pass  over  in  silence  because  it  offers 
us  little  interest.  The  striking  thing  about 
these  gentlemen  was,  that  one  of  them  seat- 
ed in  the  window,  another  at  the  piano,  and 
a  third  on  a  chair  with  his  legs  doubled  up, 
seemed  to  be  quite  different  men  from  what 


68  Scbastopol. 

they  were  a  moment  before  on  the  boule- 
vard. No  more  conceit,  no  more  of  this 
ridiculous  affectation  towards  the  infantry 
oiificers.  Here  between  themselves  they 
showed  out  what  they  were — good  fellows, 
gay,  and  in  high  spirits.  Their  conversa- 
tion continued  upon  their  comrades  and 
their  acquaintances  in  Petersburg. 

^'AndMaslovsky.?" 

"  Which  one  —  the  uhlan  or  the  horse- 
guardsman  ?" 

"  I  know  them  both.  In  my  time  the 
horse-guardsman  was  only  a  boy  just  out 
of  school.  And  the  oldest,  is  he  a  cap- 
tain r 

"  Oh  yes,  for  a  long  time." 

"  Is  he  always  with  his  Bohemian  girl  V 

"  No,  he  left  her—" 

And  the  talk  went  on  in  this  tone. 

Prince  Galtzine  sanor  j^  a  charminor  man- 
ner  a  gypsy  song,  accompanying  himself 
on  the  piano.  Praskoukine,  without  being 
asked,  sang  second,  and  so  well  too  that,  to 
his  great  delight,  they  begged  him  to  do  it 
again. 

A  servant  brought  in  tea,  cream,  and  rusks 
on  a  silver  tray. 


May,  i8s5'  ^9 

"  Give  some  to  the  prince,"  said  Kalou- 
guine. 

"  Isn't  it  strange  to  think,"  said  Galtzine, 
drinking  his  glass  of  tea  near  the  window, 
"  that  we  are  here  in  a  besieged  city,  that 
we  have  a  piano,  tea  with  cream,  and  all  this 
in  lodgings  which  I  would  be  glad  to  live 
in  at  Petersburg  ?" 

"  If  we  didn't  even  have  that,"  said  the  old 
lieutenant-colonel,  always  discontented, "  ex- 
istence would  be  intolerable.  This  contin- 
ual expectation  of  something,  or  this  seeing 
people  killed  every  day  without  stopping, 
and  this  living  in  the  mud  without  the  least 
comfort — " 

"  But  our  infantry  ofhcers,"  interrupted 
Kalousuine,  "  those  who  live  in  the  bastion 
with  the  soldiers,  and  share  their  soup  with 
them  in  the  bomb-proof,  how  do  they  get 
onr 

"  How  do  they  get  on  ?  They  don't 
change  their  linen,  to  be  sure,  for  ten  days 
at  a  time,  but  they  are  astonishing  fellows, 
true  heroes !" 

Just  at  this  moment  an  infantry  officer 
entered  the  room. 

"  I — I  have  received  an  order — to  go  to 


yo  Sebastopol. 

general  —  to  his  Excellency,  from  General 
N "he  said,  timidly  saluting. 

Kalouguine  rose,  and  without  returning 
the  salute  of  the  new-comer,  without  invit- 
ing him  to  be  seated,  begged  him  with  cruel 
politeness  and  an  official  smile  to  wait  a 
while ;  then  he  went  on  talking  in  French 
with  Galtzine,  without  paying  the  slightest 
attention  to  the  poor  officer,  who  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  and  did  not  know 
what  to  do  with  himself. 

"  I  have  been  sent  on  an  important  mat- 
ter," he  said  at  last,  after  a  moment  of  si- 
lence. 

"  If  that  Is  so,  be  kind  enough  to  follow 
me."  Kalouguine  threw  on  his  cloak  and 
turned  towards  the  door.  An  instant  later 
he  came  back  from  the  general's  room. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  I  believe  they  are  go- 
ing to  make  it  warm  to-night." 

"  Ah  !  what — a  sortie .?"  they  all  asked  to- 
gether. 

"  I  don't  know,  you  will  see  yourselves," 
he  replied,  with  an  enigmatic  smile. 

"  My  chief  is  in  the  bastion,  I  must  go 
there,"  said  Praskoukine,  putting  on  his 
sword. 


May,  1855.  71 

No  one  replied ;  he  ought  to  know  what 
he  had  to  do.  Praskoukine  and  Neferdorf 
went  out  to  go  to  their  posts. 

"  Good-by,  gentlemen,  att  revoir  !  we  will 
meet  again  to  -  night,"  cried  Kalouguine 
through  the  window,  while  they  set  out  at  a 
rapid  trot,  bending  over  the  pommels  of 
their  Cossack  saddles.  The  sound  of  their 
horses'  shoes  quickly  died  away  in  the  dark 
street. 

"  Come,  tell  me,  will  there  really  be  some- 
thing going  on  to-night?"  said  Galtzine, 
leaning  on  the  window-sill  near  Kalouguine, 
whence  they  were  watching  the  shells  rising 
over  the  bastions. 

"  I  can  tell  you,  you  alone.  You  have 
been  in  the  bastions,  haven't  you  ?" 

Although  Galtzine  had  only  been  there 
once  he  replied  by  an  afhrmative  gesture. 

"  Well,  opposite  our  lunette  there  was  a 
trench"  —  and  Kalouguine,  who  was  not  a 
specialist,  but  who  was  satisfied  of  the  value 
of  his  military  opinions,  began  to  explain, 
mixing  himself  up  and  making  wrong  use 
of  the  terms  of  fortification,  the  state  of  our 
works,  the  situation  of  the  enemy,  and  the 
plan  of  the  affair  which  had  been  prepared. 


7^  Sebastopol. 

"  There  !  there  !  They  have  begun  to 
fire  heavily  on  our  quarters ;  is  that  coming 
from  our  side  or  from  his — the  one  that  has 
just  burst  there?"  And  the  two  officers, 
leaning  on  the  window,  watched  the  lines  of 
fire  which  the  shells  traced  crossinof  each 
other  in  the  air,  the  white  powder-smoke, 
the  flashes  which  preceded  each  report  and 
illuminated  for  a  second  the  blue-black  sky ; 
they  listened  to  the  roar  of  the  cannonade, 
which  increased  in  violence. 

"  What  a  charming  panorama !"  said  Ka- 
louguine,  attracting  his  guest's  attention  to 
the'  truly  beautiful  spectacle.  "  Do  you 
know  that  sometimes  one  can't  tell  a  star 
from  a  bomb-shell .?" 

"Yes,  it  is  true;  I  just  took  that  for  a 
star,  but  it  is  coming  down.  Look  1  it 
bursts !  And  that  large  star  there  yonder 
— what  do  they  call  it  ?  One  would  say  it 
was  a  shell  1" 

"  I  am  so  accustomed  to  them  that  when 
I  go  back  to  Russia  a  starry  sky  will  seem 
to  me  to  be  sparkling  with  bomb- shells. 
One  gets  so  used  to  it." 

"  Ought  I  not  to  go  and  take  part  in  this 
sortie .?"  said  Prince  Galtzine,  after  a  pause. 


May,  1855.  yj 

"  My  dear  fellow,  what  an  idea !  Don't 
think  of  it.  I  won't  let  you  go;  you  will 
have  time  enough." 

"Seriously  —  do  you  think  I  ought  not 
to?" 

At  this  moment,  right  in  the  direction 
these  gentlemen  were  looking,  could  be 
heard  above  the  roar  of  artillery  the  rattle 
of  a  terrible  fusillade ;  a  thousand  little 
flames  spurted  and  sparkled  along  the 
whole  line. 

"  Look,  it  is  in  full  swing,"  said  Kalou- 
guine.  "  I  can't  calmly  listen  to  this  fusil- 
lade ;  it  stirs  my  soul !  They  are  shouting 
'  Hurrah  !'  "  he  added,  stretching  his  ear  tow- 
ards the  bastion,  from  which  arose  the  dis- 
tant and  prolonged  clamor  of  thousands  of 
voices. 

"  Who  is  shouting  '  Hurrah' — he  or  we  V 

"  I  don't  know ;  but  they  are  surely  fight- 
ing at  the  sword's  point,  for  the  fusillade  has 
stopped." 

An  ofificer  on  horseback,  followed  by  a 
Cossack,  galloped  up  under  their  window, 
stopped,  and  dismounted. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?" 

"  From  the  bastion,  to  see  the  general." 


7-/  Sebastopol. 

"  Come,  what  is  the  matter  ?     Speak  !" 

"  They  have  attacked  —  have  taken  the 
quarters.  The  French  have  pushed  for- 
ward their  reserves — ours  have  been  attack- 
ed— and  there  were  only  two  battahons  of 
them,"  said  the  officer,  out  of  breath. 

It  was  the  same  one  who  had  come  in 
the  evening,  but  this  time  he  went  towards 
the  door  with  confidence. 

"  Then  we  retreated  ?"  asked  Galtzine. 

"  No,"  repHed  the  officer,  in  a  surly  tone, 
"  a  battalion  arrived  in  time.  We  repulsed 
them,  but  the  chief  of  the  regiment  is  killed, 
and  many  officers  besides.  They  want  re- 
inforcements." 

So  saying,  he  went  with  Kalouguine  into 
the  general's  room,  whither  we  will  not  fol- 
low them. 

Five  minutes  later  Kalouguine  set  out 
for  the  bastion  on  a  horse,  which  he  rode  in 
the  Cossack  fashion,  a  kind  of  riding  which 
seems  to  give  a  particular  pleasure  to  the 
aides-de-camp.  He  was  the  bearer  of  cer- 
tain orders,  and  had  to  await  the  definite  re- 
sult of  the  affair.  As  to  Prince  Galtzine, 
he,  agitated  by  the  painful  emotions  which 
the  signs  of  a  battle  in  progress  usually  ex- 


Afay,  1833.  75 

cite  in  the  idle  spectator,  hastily  went  out 
into  the  street  to  wander  aimlessly  to  and 
fro. 

V. 

Soldiers  carried  the  wounded  on  stretch- 
ers, and  supported  others  under  the  arms. 
It  was  very  dark  in  the  streets ;  here  and 
there  shone  the  lights  in  the  hospital  win- 
dows or  in  the  quarters  of  a  wakeful  officer. 
The  uninterrupted  sound  of  the  cannonade 
and  the  fusillade  came  from  the  bastions, 
and  the  same  fires  still  lighted  up  the  black 
sky.  From  time  to  time  could  be  recog- 
nized the  gallop  of  a  staff-officer,  the  groan 
of  a  wounded  man,  the  steps  and  the  voices 
of  the  stretcher-bearers,  the  exclamations  of 
dotins:  women  who  stood  on  the  thresholds 
of  their  houses  and  watched  in  the  direction 
of  the  firing. 

Among  these  last  we  find  our  acquaint- 
ance Nikita,  the  old  sailor's  widow  with 
whom  he  had  made  up,  and  the  little  daugh- 
ter of  the  latter,  a  child  of  ten  years. 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  holy  Virgin  and  Mother  !" 
murmured  the  old  woman,  with  a  sigh  ;  and 
she  followed  with  her  eyes  the  shells  which 


^6  Sebastopol. 

flew  through  space  from  one  point  to  anoth- 
er like  balls  of  fire.  "  What  a  misfortune ! 
what  a  misfortune  !  The  first  bombardment 
was  not  so  hard.  Look !  one  cursed  thimj 
has  burst  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town  ri^ht 
over  our  house !" 

"  No,  it  is  farther  off ;  they  are  falling  in 
Aunt  Arina's  garden,"  said  the  child. 

"  Where  is  my  master!  where  is  he  now!" 
groaned  Nikita,  still  drunk,  and  drawling  his 
words.  "  No  tongue  can  tell  how  I  love  my 
master !  If,  God  forbid,  they  commit  the 
sin  of  killing  him,  I  assure  you,  good  aunt, 
I  won't  be  answerable  for  what  I  may  do ! 
Really,  he  is  such  a  good  master  that — 
There  is  no  w^ord  to  express  it,  you  see.  I 
wouldn't  exchange  him  for  those  who  are 
playing  cards  inside,  true.  Pooh !"  con- 
cluded Nikita,  pointing  to  the  captain's 
room,  in  which  the  yunker  Yvatchesky  had 
arranged  with  the  ensigns  a  little  festival 
to  celebrate  the  decoration  he  had  just  re- 
ceived. 

"  What  a  lot  of  shooting-stars  there  are ! 
what  a  lot  of  shooting -stars  there  are!" 
cried  the  child,  breaking  the  silence  which 
followed  Nikita's  speech.     "  There  !  there  ! 


May,  183  s.  77 

another  one  is  falling !     What  is  that  for  ? 
Say,  mother." 

"  They'll  destroy  our  cabin  ]"  sighed  the 
old  woman,  without  replying. 

"  To-day,"  resumed  the  sing-song  voice  of 
the  little  prattler — "  to-day  I  saw  in  uncle's 
room,  near  the  wardrobe,  an  enormous  ball ; 
it  had  come  through  the  roof  and  had  fallen 
right  into  the  room.  It  is  so  large  that 
they  can't  lift  it." 

"  The  women  who  had  husbands  and 
money  are  gone  away,"  continued  the  old 
woman.  "  I  have  only  a  cabin,  and  they 
are  destroying  that !  Look  !  look  how  they 
are  firing,  the  wretches  !     Lord,  my  God !" 

"  And  just  as  we  were  coming  out  of  un- 
cle's house,"  the  child  went   on,  "a  bomb- 
•  shell    came    straight    down ;    it    burst,  and 
threw  the  earth  on  all  sides ;  one  little  piece 
almost  struck  us !" 

VI. 

Prince  Galtzine  met  in  constantly  increas- 
ing numbers  wounded  men  borne  on  stretch- 
ers, others  dragging  themselves  along  on 
foot  or  supporting  each  other,  and  talking 
noisily. 


7^  Sebastopol. 

"  When  they  fell  upon  us,  brothers,"  said 
the  bass  voice  of  a  tall  soldier  who  carried 
two  muskets  on  his  shoulder — "when  they 
fell  upon  us,  shouting  'Allah!  allah  !'*  they 
pushed  one  another  on.  We  killed  the  first, 
and  others  climbed  over  them.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  done;  there  were  too  many  of 
them — too  many  of  them  !" 

"  You  come  from  the  bastion .?"  asked 
Galtzine,  interrupting  the  orator. 

"  Yes,  your  Excellency." 

"  Well,  what  happened  there  .?     Tell  me." 

"  This  happened,  your  Excellency  —  his 
strength  surrounded  us ;  he  climbed  on  the 
ramparts  and  had  the  best  of  it,  your  Ex- 
cellency." 

"How.^  the  best  of  it.?  But  you  beat 
them  back  .?" 

"Ah  yes,  beat  them  back  !  But  when  all 
his  strength  came  down  upon  us,  he  killed 
our  men,  and  no  help  for  it !" 

The  soldier  was  mistaken,  for  the  trench- 
es were  ours  ;  but,  strange  but  well-authenti- 
cated fact,  a  soldier  wounded  in  a  battle  al- 


*  The  Russian  soldiers  accustomed  to  fight  the  Turks 
and  to  hear  their  battle-cries,  always  tell  that  the  French 
have  the  same  shout,  "Allah  !"— Trans. 


May,  iSss.  ycj 

ways  believes  it  a  lost  and  a  terribly  bloody 
one. 

"  I  was  told,  nevertheless,  that  you  beat 
him  back,"  continued  Galtzine,  good-nat- 
uredly ;  "  perhaps  it  was  after  you  came 
away.     Did  you  leave  there  long  ago  ?" 

"  This  very  moment,  your  Excellency. 
The  trenches  must  belong  to  him  ;  he  had 
the  upperhand — " 

"  Why,  aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourselves  ? 
Abandon  the  trenches  !  It  is  frightful,"  said 
Galtzine,  irritated  by  the  indifference  of  the 
man. 

"  What  could  be  done  when  he  had  the 
strens'thr 

"Ah, your  Excellency,"  said  a  soldier  borne 
on  a  stretcher,  "  why  not  abandon  them, 
when  he  has  killed  us  all?  If  we  had  the 
strength  we  would  never  have  abandoned 
them  !  But  what  was  to  be  done  ?  I  had 
just  stuck  one  of  them  when  I  was  hit — 
Oh,  softly,  brothers,  softly !  Oh,  for  mer- 
cy's sake  !"  groaned  the  wounded  man. 

"  Hold  on ;  far  too  many  are  coming 
back,"  said  Galtzine,  again  stopping  the  tall 
soldier  with  the  two  muskets.  "  Wl^y  don't 
you  go  back,  hey.?     Halt!" 


8o  Sebastopol. 

The  soldier  obeyed,  and  took  off  his  cap 
with  his  left  hand. 

"Where  are  you  going  to?"  sternly  de- 
manded the  prince,  "  and  who  gave  you  per- 
mission, good -for — "  But  coming  nearer, 
he  saw  that  the  soldier's  riorht  arm  was  cov- 
ered  with  blood  up  to  the  elbow. 

"  I  am  wounded,  your  Excellency." 

"Wounded!  where?" 

"  Here,  by  a  bullet,"  and  the  soldier 
showed  his  arm ;  "  but  I  don't  know  what 
hit  me  a  crack  there."  He  held  his  head 
down,  and  showed  on  the  back  of  his  neck 
locks  of  hair  glued  together  by  coagulated 
blood. 

"  Whose  gun  is  this  ?" 

"  It  is  a  French  carbine,  your  Excellency ; 
I  brought  it  away.  I  wouldn't  have  come 
away,  but  I  had  to  lead  that  small  soldier, 
who  might  fall  down;"  and  he  pointed  to 
an  infantryman  who  was  walking  some 
paces  ahead  of  them  leaning  on  his  gun 
and  dragging  his  left  leg  with  difficulty. 

Prince  Galtzine  was  cruelly  ashamed  of 
his  unjust  suspicions,  and  conscious  that 
he  was.  blushing,  turned  around.  Without 
questioning  or  looking  after  the  wounded 


May,  iSsS'  ^^ 

any  more,  he  directed  his  steps  towards  the 
field-hospital.  Making  his  way  to  the  en- 
trance with  difficulty  through  soldiers,  lit- 
ters, stretcher-bearers  who  came  in  with  the 
wounded  and  went  out  with  the  dead,  Gal- 
tzine  entered  as  far  as  the  first  room,  took 
one  look  about  him,  recoiled  involuntarily, 
and  precipitately  fled  into  the  street.  What 
he  saw  there  was  far  too  horrible ! 


VII. 

The  great,  high,  sombre  hall,  lighted  only 
by  four  or  five  candles,  where  the  surgeons 
moved  about  examining  the  wounded,  was 
literally  crammed  with  people.  Stretcher- 
bearers  continually  brought  new  wounded 
and  placed  them  side  by  side  in  rows  on 
the  ground.  The  crowd  was  so  great  that 
the  wretches  pushed  against  one  another 
and  bathed  in  their  neighbors'  blood.  Pools 
of  stagnant  gore  stood  in  the  empty  places  ; 
from  the  feverish  breath  of  several  hundred 
men,  the  perspiration  of  the  bearers,  rose 
a  heavy,  thick,  fetid  atmosphere  in  which 
candles  burned  dimly  in  different  parts  of 
the  hall.  A  confused  murmur  of  groans, 
6 


82  Sebastopol. 

sighs,  death-rattles,  was  interrupted  by  pierc- 
ing cries.  Sisters  of  Charity,  whose  calm 
faces  did  not  express  woman's  futile  and 
tearful  compassion,  but  an  active  and  live- 
ly interest,  glided  here  and  there  in  the 
midst  of  bloody  coats  and  shirts,  sometimes 
striding  over  the  wounded,  carrying  medi- 
cines, water,  bandages,  lint.  Surgeons  with 
their  sleeves  turned  up,  on  their  knees  be- 
fore the  wounded,  examined  and  probed  the 
wounds  by  the  flare  of  torches  held  by  their 
assistants,  in  spite  of  the  terrible  cries  and 
supplications  of  the  patients.  Seated  at  a 
little  table  beside  the  door  a  major  wrote 
the  number  532. 

"  Ivan  Bogoief,  private  in  the  third  com- 
pany of  the  regiment  from  C .fractura 

femtiris  complicata  /"  shouted  the  surgeon, 
who  was  dressing  a  broken  limb  at  the  oth- 
er end  of  the  hall.     "  Turn  him  over." 

"  Oh,  oh,  good  fathers !"  gasped  the  sol- 
dier, begging  them  to  leave  him  in  peace. 

''  Perfoi-atio  capites.  Simon  Neferdof,  lieu- 
tenant-colonel of  the  infantry  regiment  from 

N .     Have    a    little    patience,   colonel. 

There  is  no  way  of —  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
leave  you  there,"  said  a  third,  who  was  fum- 


May,  1S55.  83 

blins  with  a  sort  of  hook  in  the  head  of  the 
unfortunate  officer. 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  get  done  quickly  !" 
"■  Perforatio  pectoris.  Sebastian  Sereda, 
private — what  regiment  ?  But  it  is  no  use, 
don't  write  it  down.  Moritur.  Carry  him 
off,"  added  the  surgeon,  leaving  the  dying 
man,  who  with  upturned  eyes  was  already 
gasping. 

Forty  or  fifty  stretcher-bearers  awaited 
their  burdens  at  the  door.  The  living  were 
sent  to  the  hospital,  the  dead  to  the  chapel. 
They  waited  in  silence,  and  sometimes  a 
sigh  escaped  them  as  they  contemplated 
this  picture. 

VIII. 

Kalouguine  met  many  wounded  on  his 
way  to  the  bastion.  Knowing  by  experience 
the  bad  influence  of  this  spectacle  on  the 
spirit  of  a  man  who  is  going  under  fire,  he 
not  only  did  not  stop  them  to  ask  questions, 
but  he  tried  not  to  notice  those  he  met. 
At  the  foot  of  the  hill  he  ran  across  a  staff- 
officer  coming  down  from  the  bastion  full 
speed. 

"  Zobkine  !  Zobkine  !  one  moment !" 


8^^  Sebastopol. 

"  What  ?" 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?" 

"  From  the  quarters." 

"  Well,  what  is  going  on  there  ?  Is  it 
hot?" 

"  Terribly !" 

And  the  officer  galloped  off.  The  fusil- 
lade seemed  to  grow  less ;  on  the  other  hand, 
the  cannonade  began  again  with  renewed 
vigor. 

"  Hum — a  bad  business  !"  thousfht  Kalou- 

O 

guine.  He  had  an  indefinite  but  very  dis- 
agreeable feeling;  he  had  even  a  presenti- 
ment, that  is  to  say,  a  very  common  thought 
— the  thought  of  death. 

Kalouguine  possessed  self-love  and  nerves 
of  steel.  He  was,  in  a  word,  what  is  com- 
monly called  a  brave  man.  He  did  not  give 
way  to  this  first  impression  ;  he  raised  his 
courage  by  recalling  the  story  of  one  of 
Napoleon's  aides-de-camp,  who  came  to  his 
chief  with  his  head  bloody,  after  having  car- 
ried an  order  with  all  speed. 

"  Are  you  wounded  T'  asked  the  emperor. 

"  I  crave  pardon,  sire,  I  am  dead  !"  replied 
the  aide-de-camp,  and  falling  from  his  horse, 
died  on  the  spot. 


May,  1855.  8  5 

This  anecdote  pleased  him.  Putting  him- 
self in  imagination  in  the  place  of  the  aide- 
de-camp,  he  lashed  his  horse,  put  on  a  still 
more  "  Cossack  "  gait,  and  rising  in  his  stir- 
rups to  cast  a  look  upon  the  platoon  that 
followed  him  on  a  trot,  he  reached  the  place 
where  they  had  to  dismount.  There  he 
found  four  soldiers  sitting  on  some  rocks, 
smoking  their  pipes. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there  ?"  he  cried. 

"  We  have  been  carrying  a  wounded  man, 
your  Excellency,  and  we  are  resting,"  said 
one  of  them,  hiding  his  pipe  behind  his 
back  and  taking  off  his  cap. 

"  That's  it — you  are  resting !  Forward ! 
to  your  post !" 

He  put  himself  at  their  head  and  pro- 
ceeded with  them  along  the  trench,  meet- 
ing wounded  men  at  every  step.  On  the 
top  of  the  plateau  he  turned  to  the  left  and 
found  himself,  a  few  steps  farther  on,  com- 
pletely isolated.  A  piece  of  a  shell  whistled 
near  him  and  buried  itself  in  the  trenches ; 
a  mortar-bomb  rising  in  the  air  seemed  to 
fly  straight  for  his  breast.  Seized  by  a  sud- 
den terror,  he  rushed  on  several  steps  and 
threw  himself  down.     When  the  bomb  had 


86  Sebastopol 

burst  some  distance  off  he  was  very  angry 
with  himself  and  got  up.  He  looked  around 
to  see  if  any  one  had  noticed  him  lying 
down  ;  no  one  was  near. 

Let  fear  once  get  possession  of  the  soul, 
and  it  does  not  readily  yield  its  place  to  an- 
other sentiment.  He  who  had  boasted  of  nev- 
er bowing  his  head,  went  along  the  trenches 
at  a  rapid  pace,  and  almost  on  his  hands  and 
feet. 

"  Ah  !  it  is  a  bad  sign,"  thought  he,  as  his 
foot  tripped.    "  I  shall  be  killed,  sure  !" 

He  breathed  with  dii^culty ;  he  was  bathed 
with  sweat,  and  he  was  astonished  that  he 
made  no  effort  to  overcome  his  friorht.     Sud- 

O 

denly,  at  the  sound  of  a  step  which  ap- 
proached, he  quickly  straightened  up,  raised 
his  head,  clinked  his  sabre  with  a  swagger, 
and  lessened  his  pace.  He  met  an  officer 
of  sappers  and  a  sailor.  The  former  shout- 
ed, "  Lie  down !"  pointing  to  the  luminous 
point  of  a  bomb-shell,  which  came  nearer, 
redoubling  its  speed  and  its  brightness. 

The  projectile  struck  in  the  side  of  the 
trench.  At  the  cry  of  the  officer,  Kalou- 
guine  made  a  slight,  involuntary  bow,  then 
continued  on  his  way  without  a  frown. 


May,  i8s5'  ^7 

"There's  a  brave  fellow!"  said  the  sailor 
who  coolly  watched  the  fall  of  the  bomb. 
His  practised  eye  had  calculated  that  the 
pieces  would  not  fall  into  the  trench.  "  He 
wouldn't  lie  down !" 

In  order  to  reach  the  bomb-proof  occu- 
pied by  the  commander  of  the  bastion,  Ka- 
louguine  had  only  one  more  open  space  to 
pass  when  he  felt  himself  again  overcome 
by  a  stupid  fear.  His  heart  beat  as  if  it 
would  burst,  the  blood  rushed  to  his  head, 
and  it  was  only  by  a  violent  effort  of  self- 
control  that  he  reached  the  shelter  at  a 
run. 

"Why  are  you  so  out  of  breath?"  asked 
the  general,  after  he  had  delivered  the  order 
he  brought. 

"  I  walked  very  quickly.  Excellency." 
"  Can  I  offer  you  a  glass  of  wine  ?" 
Kalouguine  drank  a  bumper  and  lit  a 
cigarette.  The  engagement  was  finished, 
but  a  violent  cannonade  continued  on  both 
sides.  The  commander  of  the  bastion  and 
several  officers,  among  them  Praskoukine, 
vi^ere  assembled  in  the  bomb-proof;  they 
were  talking  over  the  details  of  the  affair. 
The   interior,  covered  with  figured  paper 


88  Sebastopol. 

with  a  blue  ground,  was  furnished  with  a 
lounge,  a  bed,  a  table  covered  with  papers, 
and  decorated  with  a  clock  hanging  on 
the  wall  and  an  image,  before  which  burned 
a  small  lamp.  Seated  in  this  comfortable 
room,  Kalouguine  saw  all  the  marks  of  a 
quiet  life ;  he  measured  with  his  eye  the 
great  beams  of  the  ceiling  half  a  yard  thick  ; 
he  heard  the  noise  of  the  cannonade,  deaf- 
ened by  the  bomb-proofs,  and  he  could  not 
understand  how  he  could  have  yielded  twice 
to  unpardonable  attacks  of  weakness.  An- 
gry with  himself,  he  would  have  liked  to  ex- 
pose himself  to  danger  again  to  put  his  cour- 
age to  the  proof. 

A  naval  officer  with  a  great  mustache 
and  a  cross  of  Saint  George  on  his  staff 
overcoat  came  at  this  moment  to  beg  the 
general  to  give  him  some  workmen  to  re- 
pair two  sand-bag  embrasures  in  the  bat- 
tery. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  captain,"  said 
Kalouguine  to  the  new-comer ;  "  the  general 
charged  me  to  ask  you  if  your  cannon  can 
fire  grape  into  the  trenches." 

"  One  single  gun,"  replied  the  captain, 
with  a  morose  air. 


May,  i8s5'  ^9 

"  Let's  go  and  look  at  them !" 
The  officer  frowned  and  growled  out, 
"  I  have  just  passed  the  whole  night  there, 
and  I  have  come  in  to  rest  a  little ;  can't 
you  go  there  alone?  You  will  find  my 
second  in  command.  Lieutenant  Kartz,  who 
will  show  you  everything." 

The  captain  had  commanded  this  same 
battery  for  full  six  months,  and  it  was  one  of 
the  most  dangerous  posts.  He  had  not  left 
the  bastion,  indeed,  since  the  beginning  of 
the  siege,  and  even  before  the  construction 
of  the  bomb-proof  shelters.  He  had  gained 
among  the  sailors  a  reputation  for  invinci- 
ble couraore.  On  this  account  his  refusal 
was  a  lively  surprise  to  Kalouguine. 

"  That's  what  reputations  are !"  thought 
the  latter.  "  Then  I  will  go  alone,  if  you  al- 
low me,"  he  added  aloud,  in  a  mocking  tone, 
to  which  the  officer  paid  no  attention. 

Kalouguine  forgot  that  this  man  counted 
six  whole  months  of  life  in  the  bastion, 
while  he,  altogether,  at  different  times,  had 
not  passed  more  than  fifty  hours  there. 
Vanity,  desire  to  shine,  to  get  a  reward,  to 
make  a  reputation,  even  the  delight  in  dan- 
ger, incited  him  still  more,  while  the  captain 


go  Sebastopol. 

had  become  indifferent  to  all  that.  He  had 
also  made  a  show,  had  performed  courage- 
ous deeds,  had  uselessly  risked  his  life,  had 
hoped  for  and  had  received  rewards,  had  es- 
tablished his  reputation  as  a  brave  officer. 
But  to-day  these  stimulants  had  lost  their 
power  over  him ;  he  looked  at  things  differ- 
ently. Well  understanding  that  he  had  little 
chance  of  escaping  death  after  six  months 
in  the  bastions,  he  did  not  thoughtlessly 
risk  his  life,  and  limited  himself  to  fulfilling 
strictly  his  duty.  In  fact,  the  young  lieu- 
tenant appointed  to  his  battery  only  eight 
days  ago,  and  Kalouguine  to  whom  this 
lieutenant  showed  it  in  detail,  seemed  ten 
times  braver  than  the  captain.  Rising  in 
each  other's  estimation,  these  two  hung  out 
of  the  embrasures  and  climbed  over  the 
ramparts. 

His  inspection  ended,  and  as  he  was  re- 
turning to  the  bomb-proof,  Kalouguine  ran 
against  the  general,  who  was  going  to  the 
observation  tower,  followed  by  his  staff. 

"  Captain  Praskoukine,"  ordered  the  gen- 
eral, "  go  down,  I  beg,  into  the  quarters  on 
the  right.  You  will  find  there  the  second 
battalion   from    M which    is   working 


May,  185S'  p/ 

down  there.  Order  it  to  stop  work,  to  re- 
tire without  noise,  and  to  rejoin  its  regiment 
in  the  reserve  force  at  the  bottom  of  the 
hill.  You  understand?  Lead  it  yourself 
to  the  regiment." 

"  I'm  off,"  replied  Praskoukine,  and  he 
departed  on  the  run. 

The  cannonade  diminished  in  violence. 

IX. 

"  Are  you   the  second   battalion    of   the 

regiment  from  M .?"  asked  Praskoukine 

of  a  soldier  who  was  carrying  sand-bags. 

"  Yes." 

"  Where  is  the  commander  T 

Mikhailoff,  supposing  that  the  captain  of 
the  company  was  wanted,  came  out  of  his 
pit,  raised  his  hand  to  his  cap,  and  approach- 
ed Praskoukine,  whom  he  took  for  a  com- 
manding officer. 

"  The  general  orders  you  —  you  must — 
you  must  retire  at  once — without  any  noise 
— to  the  rear ;  that  is,  to  the  reserve  force," 
said  Praskoukine,  stealthily  looking  in  the 
direction  of  the  enemy's  fire. 

Having  recognized  his  comrade,  and  hav- 
ing gained  an  idea  of  the  manoeuvre,  Mi- 


g2  Sebasiopol. 

khai'loff  dropped  his  hand  and  gave  the  or- 
der to  the  soldiers.  They  took  their  mus- 
kets, put  on  their  coats,  and  marched  off. 

He  who  has  never  felt  it  cannot  appreci- 
ate the  joy  which  a  man  experiences  at  leav- 
ing, after  three  hours  of  bombardment,  a 
place  as  dangerous  as  the  quarters  were. 
During  these  three  hours  Mikhailoff,  who, 
not  without  reason,  was  thinking  of  death 
as  an  inevitable  thing,  had  the  time  to  get 
accustomed  to  the  notion  that  he  would 
surely  be  killed,  and  that  he  no  longer  be- 
longed to  the  living  world.  In  spite  of  that, 
it  was  by  a  violent  effort  that  he  kept  from 
running  when  he  came  out  of  the  quarters 
at  the  head  of  his  company,  side  by  side  with 
Praskoukine. 

"■'All  revoir !  don  voyage  T  shouted  the 
major  who  commanded  the  battalion  left 
in  the  quarters.  Mikhailoff  had  shared  his 
cheese  with  him,  both  of  them  seated  in  a 
pit  in  shelter  of  the  parapet. 

"  The  same  to  you ;  good-luck  !  It  seems 
to  me  it  is  getting  quieter." 

But  scarcely  had  he  uttered  these  words 
than  the  enemy,  who  had  doubtless  noticed 
the  movement,  began  to  fire  his  best ;  our 


May,  i8sS'  93 

side  replied,  and  the  cannonade  began  again 
with  violence.  The  stars  were  shining,  but 
with  little  light,  for  the  night  was  dark. 
The  shots  and  the  shell  explosions  alone 
liofhted  for  an  instant  the  surroundinor  ob- 
jects.  The  soldiers  marched  rapidly  and 
in  silence,  some  hurrying  past  the  others : 
only  the  regular  sound  of  their  steps  could 
be  heard  on  the  hardened  earth,  accompa- 
nied by  the  incessant  roar  of  the  cannon- 
ade, the  click  of  bayonets  striking  one  an- 
other, the  sigh  or  the  prayer  of  a  soldier : 
"Lord!  Lord!" 

Occasionally  a  wounded  man  groaned, 
and  a  stretcher  was  called  for.  In  the  com- 
pany which  Mikhailoff  commanded,  the  ar- 
tillery fire  had  disabled  twenty -six  men 
since  the  day  before. 

A  flash  illuminated  the  distant  darkness 
of  the  horizon;  the  sentinel  on  the  bastion 
cried,  "  Can — non !"  and  a  ball,  whistling  over 
the  company,  buried  itself  in  the  ground, 
which  it  ploughed  up,  sending  the  stones 
flying  about. 

"  The  devil  take  them  !  How  slowly  they 
march  !"  thought  Praskoukine,  who,  follow- 
ing Mikhailoff,  was  looking  behind  him  at 


g4-  SebastopoL 

every  step.  "  I  could  run  ahead,  since  I 
have  delivered  the  order —  Indeed,  no ! 
they  would  say  I  was  a  coward  !  Whatever 
happens  I  will  march  along  with  them." 

"  Why  is  he  following  me  ?"  said  Mikhai- 
lo£f,  on  his  side.  "  I  always  noticed  he 
brings  bad  luck.  There  comes  another, 
straight  towards  us,  seems  to  me." 

A  few  hundred  steps  farther  on  they  met 
Kalouguine  on  his  way  to  the  quarters, 
bravely  rattling  his  sword.  The  general 
had  sent  him  to  ask  how  the  work  went  on, 
but  at  the  sight  of  Mikhailoff  he  said  to 
himself  that,  instead  of  exposing  himself  to 
this  terrible  fire,  he  could  just  as  well  find 
out  by  asking  the  officer  who  came  from 
there.  Mikhailoff  gave  him,  in  fact,  all  the 
details.  Kalouguine  accompanied  him  to 
the  end  of  the  path,  and  re-entered  the 
trench  which  led  to  the  bomb-proof. 

"  What's  the  news  T  asked  the  officer, 
who  was  supping  alone  in  the  earthwork. 

"  Nothing.  I  don't  believe  there  will  be 
any  more  fighting." 

"  How  !  no  more  fighting  }  On  the  con- 
trary, the  general  has  just  gone  up  to  the 
bastion.     A  new  regiment  has  arrived.     Be- 


\ 


May,  i8s5'  95 

sides — listen! — the  fusillade  is  beginning 
again.  Don't  go.  What's  the  use  of  it.'^" 
added  the  officer,  as  Kalouguine  made  a 
movement. 

"  Nevertheless,  I  ought  to  go,"  said  the 
latter  to  himself.  "  However,  haven't  I  been 
exposed  to  danger  long  enough  to-day  ? 
The  fusillade  is  terrible." 

"  It  is  true,"  he  continued  aloud,  "  I  had 
better  wait  here." 

Twenty  minutes  later  the  general  came 
back,  accompanied  by  his  officers,  among 
whom  was  the  yunker,  Baron  Pesth,  but 
Praskoukine  was  not  with  them.  Our 
troops  had  retaken  and  reoccupied  the 
quarters.  After  having  heard  the  details 
of  the  affair,  Kalouguine  went  out  of  the 
shelter  with  Pesth. 

X. 

*'  You  have  some  blood  on  your  overcoat; 
were  you  fighting  hand-to-hand.''"  asked 
Kalouguine. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  frightful !  Imagine—"  And 
Pesth  began  to  relate  how  he  had  led  his 
company  after  the  death  of  his  chief,  how 
he  had  killed  a  Frenchman,  and  how,  with- 


g6  Sebastopol. 

out  his  assistance,  the  battle  would  have 
been  lost.  The  foundation  of  the  tale,  that 
is,  the  death  of  the  chief  and  the  French- 
man killed  by  Pestli,  was  true,  but  the 
yunker,  elaborating  the  details,  enlarged  on 
them  and  boasted. 

He  boasted  without  premeditation.  Dur- 
ing: the  whole  affair  he  had  lived  in  a  fan- 
tastic  mist,  so  much  so  that  everything  that 
had  happened  seemed  to  him  to  have  taken 
place  vaguely,  God  knows  where  or  how, 
and  to  belong  to  some  one  besides  himself. 
Naturally  enough  he  tried  to  invent  inci- 
dents to  his  own  advantage.  However,  this 
is  the  way  the  thing  happened : 

The  battalion  to  which  he  had  been  de- 
tailed to  take  part  in  the  sortie  remained 
two  hours  under  the  enemy's  fire,  then  the 
commander  said  a  few  words,  the  company 
chiefs  began  to  move  about,  the  troops  left 
the  shelter  of  the  parapet  and  were  drawn 
up  in  columns  a  hundred  paces  farther  on. 
Pesth  was  ordered  to  place  himself  on  the 
flank  of  the  second  company.  Neither  un- 
derstandinor  the  situation  nor  the  move- 
ment,  the  yunker,  with  restrained  breath 
and   a   prey  to    a    nervous    tremor   which 


May,  1 8s 5'  97 

ran  down  his  back,  placed  himself  at  the 
post  indicated,  and  gazed  mechanically  be- 
fore him  into  the  distant  darkness,  expect- 
ing something  terrible.  However,  the  sen- 
timent of  fear  was  not  the  dominating  one 
in  his  case,  for  the  firing  had  ceased.  What 
appeared  to  him  strange,  uncomfortable,  was 
to  find  himself  in  the  open  field  outside  the 
fortifications. 

The  commander  of  the  battalion  once 
more  pronounced  certain  words,  which  were 
again  repeated  in  a  low  voice  by  the  ofHcers, 
and  suddenly  the  black  wall  formed  by  the 
first  company  sank  down.  The  order  to  lie 
down  had  been  given ;  the  second  com- 
pany did  the  same,  and  Pesth  in  lying  down 
pricked  his  hand  with  some  sharp  thing. 
The  small  silhouette  of  the  captain  of  the 
second  company  alone  remained  standing, 
and  he  brandished  a  naked  sword  without 
ceasing  to  talk  and  to  walk  back  and  forth 
in  front  of  the  soldiers. 

"  Attention,  children  !  Show  yourselves 
brave  men  !  No  firins:  •  Sfet  at  the  wretch- 
es  with  the  bayonet !  When  I  shout  '  hur- 
rah !'  follow  me — closely  and  all  together — 
we  will  show  them  what  we  can  do.     We 

7 


g8  Sebastopol. 

won't  cover  ourselves  witli  shame,  will  we, 
children?     For  the  Czar,  bur  father  !" 

"What's  the  name  of  the  company  chief?" 
asked  Pesth  from  a  yunker  next  to  him. 
"He  is  a  brave  one  !" 

"  Yes,  he's  always  so  under  fire.  He  is 
called  Lissinkoffsky." 

Just  at  this  moment  a  flame  spurted  out, 
followed  by  a  deafening  report;  splinters 
and  stones  flew  in  the  air.  Fifty  seconds 
later  one  of  the  stones  fell  from  a  great 
heiHit  and  crushed  the  foot  of  a  soldier.  A 
shell  had  fallen  in  the  middle  of  the  com- 
pany, a  proof  that  the  French  had  noticed 
the  column. 

"  Ah !  you  are  sending  us  shells  now ! 
Let  us  get  at  you  and  you  will  taste  the 
Russian  bayonet,  curse  you!" 

The  captain  shouted  so  loud  that  the 
commander  of  the  battalion  ordered  him  to 
be  silent. 

The  first  company  rose  up,  after  that 
the  second ;  the  soldiers  took  up  their  mus- 
kets and  the  battalion  advanced. 

Pesth,  seized  by  a  foolish  terror,  could  not 
remember  whether  they  marched  far;  he 
went  on  like  a  drunken  man.     Suddenly 


May,  1 8s 5'  99 

thousands  of  fires  flashed  on  all  sides,  with 
whizzings  and  crackings.  He  gave  a  yell 
and  ran  forward,  because  they  all  yelled  and 
ran ;  then  he  tripped  and  fell  over  some- 
thing. It  was  the  company  chief,  wounded 
at  the  head  of  his  troops,  who  took  the  yun- 
ker  for  a  Frenchman  and  seized  his  leg. 
Pesth  pulled  his  feet  away  and  got  up. 
Some  one  threw  himself  on  him  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  he  was  almost  knocked  over  again. 
A  voice  shouted  to  him, "  Kill  him,  then ! 
What  are  you  waiting  for .?" 

A  hand  seized  his  musket,  the  point  of 
his  bayonet  buried  itself  in  something  soft. 

"Ah!  Dieul" 

These  words  were  spoken  in  French,  with 
an  accent  of  pain  and  fright.  The  yunker 
knew  he  had  just  killed  a  Frenchman.  A 
cold  sweat  moistened  his  whole  body;  he 
began  to  tremble,  and  threw  down  his  mus- 
ket. But  that  lasted  only  a  second;  the 
thought  that  he  was  a  hero  came  to  his 
mind.  Picking  up  his  gun,  he  left  the  dead 
man,  running  and  shouting  "  Hurrah  !"  with 
the  rest.  Twenty  steps  farther  on  he 
reached  the  trench  where  our  troops  and 
the  commander  of  battalion  were. 


loo  Scbastopol. 

"  I  have  killed  one !"  said  he  to  the  latter. 
"  You  are  a  brave  fellow,  baron,"  was  the 
reply. 

XL 

"  Did  you  know  that  Praskoukine  is 
dead .?"  said  Pesth  to  Kalouo:uine  on  the 
way  back. 

"  It  isn't  possible !" 

"  Why  not  ?     I  saw  him  myself." 

"  Good-by  ;   I  am  in  a  hurry." 

"  A  lucky  day !"  thought  Kalouguine,  as 
he  was  entering  his  quarters.  "  For  the 
first  time  I  am  lucky.  It  has  been  a  brill- 
iant affair ;  I  have  come  out  of  it  safe  and 
sound ;  there  must  be  recommendations  for 
decoration.  A  sword  of  honor  will  be  the 
least  they  can  give  me.  Faith,  I  have  well 
deserved  it !" 

He  made  his  report  to  the  general,  and 
went  to  his  room.  Prince  Galtzine  was 
reading  a  book  at  the  table,  and  had  been 
waiting  for  him  a  long  time. 

It  was  with  an  inexpressible  joy  that  Ka- 
louguine found  himself  at  home,  far  from 
danger.  Lying  on  his  bed  in  his  night- 
shirt, he  related  to  Galtzine  the  incidents  of 


May,  i8j^.  loi 

the  fight.  These  incidents  naturally  ar- 
ranged themselves  so  as  to  make  it  appear 
how  he,  KaloLigLiine,  was  a  brave  and  capa- 
ble officer.  He  discreetly  touched  on  this 
because  no  one  could  be  ignorant  of  it,  and 
no  one,  with  the  exception  of  the  defunct 
captain  Praskoukine,  had  the  right  to  doubt 
it.  The  latter,  although  he  felt  very  much 
honored  to  walk  arm-in-arm  with  the  aide- 
de-camp,  had  told  one  of  his  friends  in  his 
very  ear  the  evening  before  that  Kalouguine 
— a  very  good  fellow,  however — did  not  like 
to  walk  on  the  bastions. 

We  left  Praskoukine  coming  back  with 
Mikha'iloff.  He  reached  a  less  exposed 
place  and  began  to  breathe  again,  when  he 
perceived,  on  turning  around,  the  sudden 
Hght  of  a  flash.  The  sentinel  shouted, 
"  Mor — tar!"  And  one  of  the  soldiers  who 
followed  added,  "  It  is  coming  straight  into 
the  bastion  !"  Mikha'iloff  looked.  The  lu- 
minous point  of  the  bomb-shell  seemed  to 
stop  directly  over  his  head,  exactly  the  mo- 
ment when  it  was  impossible  to  tell  what 
direction  it  was  going  to  take.  That  was 
for  the  space  of  a  second.  Suddenly,  re- 
doubling   its    speed,   the    projectile    came 


102  SebastopoL 

nearer  and  nearer.  The  sparks  of  the  fuse 
could  be  seen  flying  out,  the  dismal  hissing 
was  plainly  audible.  It  was  going  to  drop 
right  in  the  midst  of  the  battalion.  "  To 
earth !"  shouted  a  voice.  Mikhailoff  and 
Praskoukine  obeyed.  The  latter,  with  shut 
eyes,  heard  the  shell  fall  somewhere  on  the 
hard  earth  very  near  him.  A  second,  which 
appeared  to  him  an  hour,  passed,  and  the 
shell  did  not  burst.    Praskoukine  was  frioht- 

o 

ened;  then  he  asked  himself  what  cause  he 
had  for  fear.  Perhaps  it  had  fallen  farther 
away,  and  he  wrongly  imagined  that  he 
heard  the  fuse  hissing  near  him.  Opening 
his  eyes,  he  was  satisfied  to  see  Mikha'i- 
loff  stretched  motionless  at  his  feet ;  but  at 
the  same  time  he  perceived,  a  yard  off,  the 
lighted  fuse  of  the  shell  spinning  around 
like  a  top.  A  glacial  terror,  which  stifled 
every  thought,  every  sentiment,  took  pos- 
session of  his  soul.  He  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

Another  second  passed,  during  which  a 
whole  world  of  thoughts,  of  hopes,  of  sensa- 
tions, and  of  souvenirs  passed  through  his 
mind. 

"Whom  will  it  kill?     Me  or  Mikha'floff, 


May,  1855,  103 

or  indeed  both  of  us  together?  If  it  is  I, 
where  will  it  hit  me  ?  If  in  the  head,  it  will 
be  all  over ;  if  on  the  foot,  they  will  cut  it 
off,  then  I  shall  insist  that  they  give  me 
chloroform,  and  I  may  get  well.  Perhaps 
Mikha'iloff  alone  will  be  killed,  and  later  I 
will  tell  how  we  were  close  together,  and 
how  I  was  covered  with  his  blood.  No,  no  ! 
it  is  nearer  me — it  will  be  I !" 

Then  he  remembered  the  twelve  rubles 
he  owed  Mikhailoff,  and  another  debt  left 
at  Petersburg,  which  ought  to  have  been 
paid  long  ago.  A  Bohemian  air  that  he 
sang  the  evening  before  came  to  his  mind. 
He  also  saw  in  his  imagination  the  lady  he 
was  in  love  with  in  her  lilac  trimmed  bon- 
net; the  man  who  had  insulted  him  five 
years  before,  and  whom  he  had  never  taken 
vengeance  on.  But  in  the  midst  of  these 
and  many  other  souvenirs  the  present  feel- 
ing—  the  expectation  of  death  —  did  not 
leave  him.  "  Perhaps  it  isn't  going  to  ex- 
plode !"  he  thought,  and  was  on  the  point 
of  opening  his  eyes  with  desperate  boldness. 
But  at  this  instant  a  red  fire  struck  his  eye- 
balls through  the  closed  lids,  something  hit 
him  in  the  middle  of  the  chest  with  a  terri- 


10^  Sebastopol. 

ble  crash.  He  ran  forward  at  random,  en- 
tangled his  feet  in  his  sword,  stumbled,  and 
fell  on  his  side. 

"  God  be  praised,  I  am  only  bruised." 

This  was  his  first  thought,  and  he  wanted 
to  feel  of  his  breast,  but  his  hands  seemed  as 
if  they  were  tied.  A  vice  griped  his  head, 
soldiers  ran  before  his  eyes,  and  he  mechan- 
ically counted  them : 

"  One,  two,  three  soldiers,  and,  besides,  an 
officer  who  is  losinor  his  cloak  !" 

A  new  light  flashed ;  he  wondered  what 
had  fired.  Was  it  a  mortar  or  a  cannon  } 
Doubtless  a  cannon.  Another  shot,  more 
soldiers — five,  six,  seven.  They  passed  in 
front  of  him,  and  suddenly  he  became  terri- 
bly afraid  of  being  crushed  by  them.  He 
wanted  to  cry  out,  to  say  that  he  was  bruised, 
but  his  lips  were  dry,  his  tongue  was  glued 
to  the  roof  of  his  mouth.  He  had  a  burn- 
ing thirst.  He  felt  that  his  breast  was  damp, 
and  the  sensation  of  this  moisture  made  him 
think  of  water.  ...  He  would  have  liked  to 
drink  that  which  drenched  him. 

"  I  must  have  knocked  the  skin  off  in 
falling,"  he  said  to  himself,  more  and  more 
frightened  at  the  idea  of  being  crushed  by 


May,  185s.  los 

the  soldiers  who  were  running  in  crowds 
before  him.     He  tried  again  to  cry  out, 

"  Take  me  ! — " 

But  instead  of  that  he  uttered  a  groan  so 
terrible  that  he  was  frightened  at  it  himself. 
Then  red  sparks  danced  before  his  eyes ; 
it  seemed  as  if  the  soldiers  were  piling 
stones  on  him.  The  sparks  danced  more 
rapidly,  the  stones  piled  on  him  stifled  him 
more  and  more.  He  stretched  himself  out, 
he  ceased  to  see,  to  hear,  to  think,  to  feel. 
He  had  been  killed  instantly  by  a  piece  of 
shell  striking  him  full  in  the  breast. 

XII. 

Mikhailoff  also  threw  himself  down  on 
seeing  the  shell.  Like  Praskoukine,  he 
thought  of  a  crowd  of  thin^js  durino:  the 
two  seconds  which  preceded  the  explosion. 
He  said  his  prayers  mentally,  repeating, 

"  May  Thy  will  be  done  !  Why,  O  Lord, 
am  I  a  soldier  ?  Why  did  I  exchange  into 
the  infantry  to  make  this  campaign  ?  Why 
did  I  not  remain  in  the  uhlan  regiment,  in 

the  province  of  F ,  near  my  friend  Na- 

tacha  ?  and  now  see  what  is  going  to  happen 
to  me." 


ip6  Sebastopol. 

He  began  to  count — "  One,  two,  three, 
four,"  saying  to  himself  that  if  the  shell  ex- 
ploded on  an  even  number  he  would  live,  if 
at  an  odd  number  he  would  be  killed. 

"It  is  all  over,  I  am  killed  !"  he  thought, 
at  the  sound  of  the  explosion,  without  think- 
ing any  more  of  odd  or  even.  Struck  on 
the  head,  he  felt  a  terrible  pain. 

"  Lord,  pardon  my  sins !"  he  murmured, 
clasping  his  hands. 

He  tried  to  rise,  and  fell  unconscious,  face 
downward.  His  first  sensation  when  he 
came  to  himself  was  of  blood  runninor  from 
his  nose.  The  pain  in  his  head  was  much 
lessened. 

"  My  soul  is  departing.  What  will  there 
be  OM^x  yonder  ?  My  God,  receive  my  soul 
in  peace !  It  is  nevertheless  strange,"  he 
reasoned,  "  that  I  am  dying,  and  I  can  dis- 
tinctly hear  the  footsteps  of  the  soldiers  and 
the  sound  of  shots  !" 

"A  stretcher  this  way!  The  company 
chief  is  killed  !"  cried  a  voice  which  he  rec- 
ognized, that  of  the  drummer  Ignatieff. 

Some  one  raised  him  up  by  the  shoulders; 
he  opened  his  eyes  with  an  effort  and  saw 
the  dark-blue  sky  over  his  head,  myriads  of 


May,  i8s5'  loy 

stars,  and  two  shells  flying  through  space  as 
if  they  were  racing  with  each  other.  He,  saw 
Ignatieff,  soldiers  loaded  down  with  stretch- 
ers and  with  muskets,  the  slope  of  the  in- 
trenchment,  and  suddenly  he  understood  he 
was  still  in  the  world. 

A  stone  had  slightly  wounded  him  on  the 
head.  His  first  impression  was  almost  a 
regret.  He  felt  so  well,  so  quietly  prepared 
to  go  OM^x  yonder,  that  the  return  to  reality, 
the  sight  of  the  shells,  of  the  trenches,  and 
of  blood,  was  painful  to  him.  The  second 
impression  was  an  involuntary  joy  at  feeling 
himself  alive,  and  the  third  was  the  desire 
to  leave  the  bastion  as  quickly  as  possible. 
The  drummer  bandaged  his  chiefs  head 
and  led  him  towards  the  field-hospital,  sup- 
porting him  under  his  arm. 

"Where  am  I  going,  and  what  for?" 
thought  the  captain,  coming  to  himself  a 
little.  "  My  duty  is  to  remain  with  my  com- 
pany— all  the  more,"  whispered  a  little  voice 
within  him,  "  since  it  will  shortly  be  out  of 
range  of  the  enemy's  fire." 

"  It's  no  use,  my  friend,"  he  said  to  the 
drummer,  taking  away  his  arm.  "  I  won't 
go  to  the  field-hospital ;  I  will  stay  with  my 
company." 


io8  Sebastopol. 

"  You  had  better  let  yourself  be  properly- 
taken  care  of,  your  Excellency.  It  don't 
seem  to  be  anything  at  first,  but  it  may 
grow  worse.     Indeed,  your  Excellency — " 

Mikhailoff  stopped,  undecided  what  to 
do.  He  would  have  followed  Ignatieff's  ad- 
vice, perhaps,  but  he  saw  what  a  number  of 
wounded  men  crowded  the  hospital,  almost 
all  of  them  seriously  hurt. 

"  Perhaps  the  doctor  will  make  fun  of  my 
scratch,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  without  lis- 
tening to  the  drummer's  arguments  he  went 
with  a  firm  step  to  join  his  company. 

"  Where  is  officer  Praskoukine,  who  was 
beside  me  a  short  time  ago  ?"  he  asked  of 
the  sub-lieutenant  whom  he  found  at  the 
head  of  the  company. 

"I  don't  know;  I  think  he  was  killed," 
hesitatingly  replied  the  latter. 

"  Killed  or  wounded  ?  Why,  don't  you 
know }  He  was  marching  with  us.  Why 
didn't  you  bring  him  off?" 

"  It  wasn't  possible  in  that  furnace." 

"  Oh !  why  did  you  abandon  a  living 
man,  Mikhail  Ivanitch  ?"  said  Mikhailoff, 
with  a  vexed  tone.  "  If  he  is  dead,  we  must 
bring  off  his  body." 


May,  iSsS'  log 

"  How  can  he  be  alive  ?  Indeed  I  tell 
you  I  went  up  to  him,  and  I  saw —  What 
would  you  have?  We  scarcely  had  time 
to  bring  off  our  own  men.  Ah  !  the  devils, 
how  they  are  firing  shell  now !" 

Mikhailoff  sat  down,  and  held  his  head 
in  his  hands.  The  walk  had  increased  the 
violence  of  the  pain. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "we  must  certainly  go  and 
get  him.  Perhaps  he  is  alive.  It  is  our 
duty,  Mikhail  Ivanitch." 

Mikhail  Ivanitch  did  not  reply. 

"  He  didn't  think  of  bringing  him  off  at 
the  time,  and  now  I  must  detail  men  for  it. 
Why  send  them  into  this  hell -fire,  which 
will  kill  them,  for  nothing?"  thought  Mi- 
khailoff. 

"  Children,  we  must  go  back  to  get  that 
officer  who  is  wounded  yonder  in  the  ditch," 
he  said,  without  raising  his  voice,  and  in  a 
tone  which  had  no  authority,  for  he  guessed 
how  disasfreeable  the  execution  of  this  or- 
der  would  be  to  the  men. 

But  since  he  addressed  himself  to  no  one 
in  particular,  not  one  of  them  came  forward 
at  this  call. 

"  Who  knows  ?  he  is  dead,  perhaps,  and 


no  Sebastopol. 

it  isn't  worth  while  to  risk  our  men  useless- 
ly. It  is  my  fault ;  I  ought  to  have  thought 
of  it.  I  will  go  alone ;  it  is  my  duty.  Mi- 
khail Ivanitch,"  he  added,  aloud,  "lead  on 
the  company,  I  will  overtake  you." 

Gathering  up  the  folds  of  his  cloak  with 
one  hand,  he  touched  the  image  of  St.  Mi- 
trophanes  with  the  other. .  He  wore  this  on 
his  breast  as  a  sign  of  special  devotion  to 
the  blessed  one. 

The  captain  retraced  his  steps,  assured 
himself  that  Praskoukine  was  really  dead, 
and  came  back  holding  in  his  hand  the 
bandage  which  had  become  unwound  from 
his  own  head.  The  battalion  was  already  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  almost  out  of  reach 
of  the  balls,  when  Mikhailoff  rejoined  it.  A 
few  stray  shells  still  came  in  their  direction. 

"  I  must  go  to-morrow  and  be  registered 
in  the  field  -  hospital,"  said  the  captain  to 
himself  while  the  surgeon  was  dressing  his 
wound. 

XIIL 

Hundreds  of  mutilated,  freshly  bleeding 
bodies,  which  two  hours  before  were  full  of 
hopes  and  of  different  desires,  sublime  or 


May,  1 8^^.  Ill 

humble,  lay  with  stiffened  limbs  in  the  flow- 
ery and  dew -bathed  valley  which  separated 
the  bastion  from  the  intrenchment,  or  on 
the  smooth  floor  of  the  little  mortuary  chap- 
el of  Sebastopol.  The  dry  lips  of  all  of  these 
men  murmured  prayers,  curses,  or  groans. 
They  crawled,  they  turned  on  their  sides, 
some  were  abandoned  among  the  corpses 
of  the  blossom-strewn  valley,  others  lay  on 
stretchers,  on  cots,  and  on  the  damp  floor 
of  the  field -hospital.  Notwithstanding  all 
this,  the  heavens  shed  their  morning  light 
over  Mount  Saponne  as  on  the  preceding 
days,  the  sparkling  stars  grew  pale,  a  white 
mist  rose  from  the  sombre  and  plaintively 
swelling  sea,  the  east  grew  purple  with  the 
dawn,  and  long,  flame-colored  clouds  stretch- 
ed along  the  blue  horizon.  As  on  the  days 
before,  the  grand  torch  mounted  slowly, 
powerful  and  proud,  promising  joy,  love,  and 
happiness  to  the  awakened  world. 

XIV. 

On  the  following  evening  the  band  of  the 
regiment  of  chasseurs  again  played  on  the 
boulevard.  Around  the  pavilion  oflicers, 
yunkers,  soldiers,  and  young  women  prom- 


112  Sebasiopol. 

enaded  with  a  festal  air  in  the  paths  of  white 
flowering  acacias. 

Kalouguine,  Prince  Galtzine,  and  another 
colonel  marched  arm-in-arm  along  the  street, 
talking  of  the  affair  of  the  day  before.  The 
chief  subject  of  this  conversation  was,  as  it 
always  is,  not  of  the  affair  itself,  but  of  the 
part  the  talkers  had  taken  in  it.  The  ex- 
pression of  their  faces,  the  sound  of  their 
voices,  had  something  serious  in  it,  and  it 
might  have  been  supposed  that  the  losses 
profoundly  affected  them.  But,  to  tell  the 
truth,  since  no  one  among  them  had  lost 
any  one  dear  to  him,  they  put  on  this  offi- 
cially mournful  expression  for  propriety's 
sake.  Kalouguine  and  the  colonel,  although 
they  were  very  good  fellows,  would  have 
asked  nothing  better  than  to  be  present  at 
a  similar  engagement  every  day,  in  order  to 
receive  each  time  a  sword  of  honor  or  the 
rank  of  major-general.  When  I  hear  a  con- 
queror who  sends  to  their  destruction  mill- 
ions of  men  in  order  to  satisfy  his  personal 
ambition  called  a  monster,  I  always  want 
to  lauQ^h.  Ask  sub-lieutenants  Petrouchef 
Antonoff,  and  others,  and  you  will  see  that 
each  is  a  little  Napoleon,  a  monster  ready 


May,  i8s5'  nj 

to  engage  in  battle,  to  kill  a  hundred  men, 
in  order  to  obtain  one  more  little  star  or  an 
increase  of  pay. 

"  I  ask  pardon,"  said  the  colonel,  "  the  af- 
fair began  on  the  left  flank.     /  was  there.'' 

"  Perhaps  so,"  replied  Kalouguine,  "  for  I 
was  almost  all  the  time  on  the  right  flank. 
I  went  there  twice,  first  to  seek  the  general, 
then  simply  of  my  own  accord  to  look  on. 
It  was  there  it  was  hot !" 

"  If  Kalouguine  says  so  it  is  a  fact,"  con- 
tinued the  colonel,  turning  towards  Galtzine. 

"Do  you   know   that   only   to-day  V 

told  me  you  were  a  brave  man  .?  Our  losses 
are  truly  frightful.  In  my  own  regiment 
four  hundred  men  disabled  !  I  don't  under- 
stand how  I  came  out  alive." 

At  the  other  end  of  the  boulevard  they 
saw  Mikhailoff  s  bandaged  head  arise.  He 
was  coming  to  meet  them. 

"  Are  you  wounded,  captain  ?"  asked  Ka- 
louguine. 

"  Slightly — by  a  stone,"  said  Mikhailoff. 

"  Le  pavilion   est    il  deja    amene  T'   said 
Prince  Galtzine,  looking  over  the  head  of 
the   captain,  and  addressing  himself  to  no 
one  in  particular. 
8 


114  Scbastopol. 

''Noil  pas  encore','  said  Mikhailoff,  very 
anxious  to  show  that  he  knew  French. 

"  Does  the  armistice  still  go  on  ?"  asked 
Galtzine,  addressing  him  politely  in  Rus- 
sian, as  if  to  say  to  the  captain,  "  I  know 
you  speak  French  with  difficulty,  why  not 
simply  speak  Russian  ?"  Upon  this  the 
aides-de-camp  went  away  from  Mikhailoff, 
who  felt,  as  on  the  evening  before,  very  lone- 
some. Not  wishing  to  come  in  contact  with 
some  of  them,  and  not  making  up  his  mind 
to  approach  others,  he  limited  himself  to  sa- 
luting certain  officers,  and  sat  down  near  the 
Kazarsky  monument  to  smoke  a  cigarette. 

Baron  Pesth  also  made  his  appearance  on 
the  boulevard.  He  related  that  he  had  tak- 
en part  in  the  negotiations  of  the  armistice, 
that  he  had  chatted  with  the  French  officers, 
and  that  one  of  them  had  said  to  him, 

"  If  daylight  had  come  an  hour  later  the 
ambuscades  would  have  been  retaken," 

To  which  he  had  replied, 

"  Sir,  I  don't  say  they  would  not  have 
been,  so  that  I  shall  not  contradict  you," 
and  his  answer  had  filled  him  with  pride. 

In  reality,  although  he  had  been  present 
at  the  conclusion  of  the  armistice,  and  had 


May,  i8s5'  nS 

been  very  desirous  of  talking  with  the 
French,  he  had  said  nothing  remarkable. 
The  yunker  simply  promenaded  for  a  long 
time  in  front  of  the  lines,  asking  the  nearest 
Frenchmen, 

"  What  regiment  do  you  belong  to  ?" 

They  answered  him,  and  that  was  all.  As 
he  advanced  a  little  beyond  the  neutral  zone, 
a  French  sentinel,  who  did  not  imagine  that 
the  Russian  understood  his  language,  flung 
a  formidable  curse  at  him. 

"  He  is  coming  to  examine  our  works, 
this  damned — " 

Indeed,  after  that  the  yunker  returned 
home,  composing  along  the  road  the  French 
phrases  he  had  just  retailed  to  his  acquaint- 
ances. 

Captain  Zobkine  was  also  seen  on  the 
promenade,  shouting  with  a  loud  voice ;  Cap- 
tain Objogoff,  with  his  torn  uniform ;  the 
captain  of  artillery,  who  asked  no  favors  of 
any  one  ;  the  yunker,  in  love — in  a  word,  all 
the  personages  of  the  day  before,  swayed 
by  the  same  eternal  moving  forces.  Pras- 
koukine,  Neferdoff,  and  several  others  were 
alone  absent.  Nobody  thought  of  them. 
Nevertheless,  their  bodies  were  neither 
washed,  nor  dressed,  nor  buried  in  the  earth. 


ii6  Sebastopol. 

XV. 

White  flags  are  flying  on  our  fortifica- 
tions and  in  the  French  intrenchments.  In 
the  blossom-covered  valley  mutilated  bodies, 
clothed  in  blue  or  in  gray,  with  bare  feet, 
lie  in  heaps,  and  the  men  are  carrying  them 
off  to  place  them  in  carts.  The  air  is  poi- 
soned by  the  odor  of  the  corpses.  Crowds 
of  people  pour  out  of  Sebastopol  and  out  of 
the  French  camp  to  witness  this  spectacle. 
The  different  sides  meet  each  other  on  this 
ground  with  eager  and  kindly  curiosity. 

Listen  to  the  words  exchanged  between 
them.  On  this  side,  in  a  small  group  of 
French  and  Russians,  a  young  officer  is 
examining  a  cartridge-box.  Although  he 
speaks  bad  French,  he  can  make  himself 
understood. 

"  And  why  that— that  bird  .?"  he  asks. 

"  Because  it  is  the  cartridge-box  of  a  regi- 
ment of  the  guard,  sir.  It  is  ornamented 
with  the  imperial  eagle." 

"  And  you — you  belong  to  the  guard  .?" 

"  Pardon,  sir,  to  the  sixth  regiment  of  the 
line." 

"And   this  —  where   was    this    boufjht.?" 


May,  i8s5-  117 

The  officer  points  to  the  Httle  wooden 
mouth-piece  which  holds  the  Frenchman's 
cio^arette. 

"  At  Balaklava,  sir.    It  is  only  palm-wood." 

"  Pretty,"  replies  the  officer,  obliged  to 
make  use  of  the  few  words  he  knew,  and 
which,  nolens  volens,  intruded  themselves 
into  the  conversation. 

"  You  will  oblige  me  if  you  will  keep  that 
as  a  souvenir  of  this  meeting." 

The  Frenchman  throws  away  his  cigar- 
ette, blows  in  the  mouth-piece,  and  politely 
presents  it  to  the  officer  with  a  salute.  The 
latter  gives  him  his  in  exchange.  All  the 
French  and  Russian  by-standers  smile  and 
seem  delighted. 

Here  comes  a  shrewd -looking  infantry- 
man in  a  red  shirt,  his  overcoat  thrown  over 
his  shoulders.  His  face  is  full  of  good  spir- 
its and  curiosity.  Accompanied  by  two  com- 
rades, their  hands  behind  their  backs,  he  ap- 
proaches and  asks  a  Frenchman  for  a  light. 
The  latter  blows  into  his  pipe,  shakes  it,  and 
offers  a  light  to  the  Russian. 

"  Tabac  bonn  /"  says  the  soldier  in  the  red 
shirt,  and  the  by-standers  smile. 

"  Yes,  good  tobacco — Turkish  tobacco  !" 


ii8  Scbastopol. 

answers  the  Frenchman ;  "  and  with  you 
Russian  tobacco  good  ?" 

''  Rotiss  bonnP''  repeats  the  soldier  in  the 
red  shirt,  and  this  time  the  spectators  burst 
out  laughing. 

''  Fran^ais  pas  bonn,  bonn  jour,  mousiotcT 
continues  the  soldier,  making  a  show  of  all 
he  knew  in  French,  laughing,  and  tapping 
on  the  stomach  of  the  man  who  was  talking 
with  him.     The  Frenchmen  also  laugh. 

"  They  are  not  pretty,  these  Russian 
B ,"  said  a  Zouave. 

"  What  are  they  laughing  at  ?"  asks  an- 
other, with  an  Italian  accent. 

''Le  caftan  bonuT  the  bold  soldier  begins 
again,  examining  the  embroidered  uniform 
of  the  Zouave. 

"  To  your  places,  sacre  nom  f  shouts  a 
French  corporal  at  this  instant. 

The  soldiers  sulkily  disperse. 

Nevertheless,  our  young  cavalry  lieuten- 
ant is  strutting  in  a  group  of  the  enemy's 
officers. 

"  I  knew  Count  Sasonoff  well,"  says  one 
of  the  latter.  "  He  is  one  of  the  true  Rus- 
sian counts,  such  as  we  like." 

"  I  also  knew  a  Sasonoff,"  replies  the  cav- 


May,  iSs5'  119 

airy  officer,  "  but  he  wasn't  a  count,  as  far 
as  I  know.  He  is  a  small,  dark  man  about 
your  age." 

"That's  it,  sir  — that's  he.  Oh,  how  I 
would  like  to  see  the  dear  count !  If  you 
see  him,  give  him  my  regards.  Captain 
Latour,"  he  adds,  bowing. 

"  What  a  miserable  business  we  are  car- 
rying on  !  It  was  hot  last  night,  wasn't  it .?" 
continues  the  cavalry  officer,  anxious  to  keep 
up  the  conversation,  and  pointing  to  the 
corpses. 

"  Oh,  sir,  it  is  frightful.  But  what  fine 
fellows  your  soldiers  are!  It  is  a  pleasure 
to  fisht  with  fine  fellows  like  that." 

"  It  must  be  confessed  that  your  fellows 
are  up  to  snuff  also,"  replies  the  Russian 
horseman,  with  a  salute,  satisfied  that  he  has 
given  him  a  good  answer. 

But  enough  on  this  subject.  Let  us 
watch  that  ten -year- old  boy,  with  an  old 
worn  cap  on  his  head  which  doubtless  be- 
longed to  his  father,  and  with  naked  legs 
and  large  shoes  on  his  feet,  dressed  in  a 
pair  of  cotton  trousers,  held  up  by  a  single 
brace.  He  came  out  of  the  fortifications  at 
the  beginning  of  the  truce.     He  has  been 


t20  Scbastopol. 

walking  about  ever  since  on  the  low  ground, 
examining  with  stupid  curiosity  the  French 
soldiers  and  the  dead  bodies  lying  on  the 
ground.  He  is  gathering  the  little  blue 
field-flowers  with  which  the  valley  is  strewn. 
He  retraces  his  steps  with  a  great  bouquet, 
holding  his  nose  so  as  not  to  smell  the  fetid 
odor  that  comes  on  the  wind.  Stopping 
near  a  heap  of  corpses,  he  looks  a  long  time 
at  a  headless,  hideous,  dead  man.  After  an 
examination,  he  goes  near  and  touches  with 
his  foot  the  arm  stretched  stiffly  in  the  air. 
As  he  presses  harder  on  it  the  arm  moves 
and  falls  into  place.  The  boy  gives  a  cry, 
hides  his  face  in  the  flowers,  and  enters  the 
fortifications,  running  at  full  speed. 

Yes,  flags  of  truce  float  over  the  bastions 
and  on  the  intrenchments ;  the  brilliantly 
shining  sun  is  setting  into  the  blue  sea, 
which  ripples  and  sparkles  under  the  golden 
rays.  Thousands  of  people  assemble,  look 
at  each  other,  chat,  laugh.  These  people, 
who  are  Christians,  who  profess  to  obey  the 
great  law  of  love  and  devotion,  are  looking 
at  their  work  without  throwing  themselves 
down  in  repentance  at  the  knees  of  Him 
who  gave  them  life,  and  with  life  the  fear  of 


May,  1855,  121 

death,  the  love  of  the  good  and  the  beautiful. 
They  do  not  embrace  each  other  like  broth- 
ers, and  shed  tears  of  joy  and  happiness  ! 
We  must  at  least  take  consolation  in  the 
thought  that  we  did  not  begin  the  war,  that 
we  are  only  defending  our  country,  our  na- 
tive land.  The  white  flags  are  lowered;  the 
engines  of  death  and  of  suffering  thunder 
once  more  ;  again  a  flood  of  innocent  blood 
is  shed,  and  groans  and  curses  can  be  heard. 
I  have  said  what  I  have  wanted  to  say  for 
this  time  at  least,  but  a  painful  doubt  over- 
whelms me.  It  would  have  been  better,  per- 
haps, to  have  kept  silent,  for  possibly  what 
I  have  uttered  is  among  those  pernicious 
truths  obscurely  hidden  away  in  every  one's 
soul,  and  which,  in  order  to  remain  harm- 
less, must  not  be  expressed ;  just  as  old  wine 
must  not  be  disturbed  lest  the  sediment  rise 
and  make  the  liquid  turbid.  Where,  then, 
in  my  tale  do  we  see  the  evil  we  must  avoid, 
and  the  Qrood  towards  which  we  must  strive 
to  go  ?  Where  is  the  traitor  ?  Where  is  the 
hero  ?  All  are  G:ood  and  all  are  bad.  It  is 
not  Kalouguine  with  his  brilliant  courage, 
his  gentlemanly  bravado,  and  his  vanity — 
the  chief  motive  power  of  all  his  actions  ;  it 


122  Sebastopol. 

is  not  PraskoLikinc,  an  inoffensive  cipher, 
although  he  fell  on  the  battle-field  for  his 
faith,  his  ruler,  and  his  country ;  nor  timid 
Mikhailoff ;  nor  Pesth,  that  child  with  no 
conviction  and  no  moral  sense,  who  can  pass 
for  traitors  or  for  heroes. 

No ;  the  hero  of  my  tale,  the  one  I  love 
with  all  the  power  of  my  soul,  the  one  I 
have  tried  to  reproduce  in  all  his  beauty, 
just  as  he  has  been,  is,  and  always  will  be 
beautiful,  is  Truth. 


SEBASTOPOL   IN  AUGUST,  1855. 


SEBASTOFOL  IN  AUGUST,  i8s5. 

I. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  month  of  Au- 
gust there  was  slowly  moving  along  the 
stony  Sebastopol  road  between  Douvanka* 
and  Baktchisara'i  an  officer's  carriage  of  pe- 
culiar form,  unknown  elsewhere,  which  held 
a  middle  place  in  construction  between  a 
basket  -  wagon,  a  Jewish  britchka,  and  a 
Russian  cart. 

In  this  carriage  a  servant,  dressed  in  linen, 
with  a  soft  and  shapeless  officer  s  cap  on  his 
head,  held  the  reins.  Seated  behind  him, 
on  parcels  and  bags  covered  with  a  soldier's 
overcoat,  was  an  officer  in  a  summer  cloak, 
small  in  stature,  as  well  as  could  be  judged 
from  the  position  he  was  in,  who  was  less 
remarkable  for  the  massive  squareness  of 
his  shoulders  than  for  the  thickness  of  his 
body  between  his  chest  and  his  back.  His 
neck  from   the   nape   to   the  shoulder  was 

*  The  last  station  before  Sebastopol. — Trans, 


126  Sebastopol. 

heavy  and  largely  developed,  and  the  mus- 
cles were  firmly  extended.  What  is  com- 
monly spoken  of  as  a  waist  did  not  exist, 
nor  the  stomach  either,  although  he  was  far 
from  being  fat ;  and  his  face,  upon  which 
was  spread  a  layer  of  yellow  and  unhealthy 
sunburn,  was  noticeable  by  its  thinness.  It 
would  have  passed  for  an  attractive  one 
if  it  had  not  been  for  a  certain  bloatino; 
of  the  flesh  and  a  skin  furrowed  by  deep 
wrinkles,  which,  interweaving,  distorted  the 
features,  took  away  all  freshness,  and  gave 
a  brutal  expression.  His  small,  brown,  ex- 
traordinarily keen  eyes  had  an  almost  impu- 
dent look.  His  very  thick  mustache,  which 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  biting,  did  not  extend 
much  in  breadth.  His  cheeks  and  his  chin, 
which  he  had  not  shaved  for  two  days, 
were  covered  with  a  black  and  thick  beard. 
Wounded  on  the  head  by  a  piece  of  shell 
on  the  loth  of  May,  and  still  wearing  a 
bandage,  he  felt,  nevertheless,  entirely  cured, 
and  left  the  hospital  at  Sympheropol  to  join 
his  regiment,  posted  somewhere  there  in  the 
direction  where  shots  could  be  heard  ;  but 
he  had  not  been  able  to  find  out  whether  it 
was  at  Sebastopol  itself  or  at  Severnai'a  or  at 


Augttst,  1 8^^.  1 2 "J 

Inkerman.  The  cannonade  was  distinctly 
heard,  and  seemed  very  near  when  the  hills 
did  not  cut  off  the  sound  which  was  brought 
by  the  wind.  Occasionally  a  tremendous  ex- 
plosion shook  the  air  and  made  you  tremble 
in  spite  of  yourself.  Now  and  then  less  vio- 
lent noises,  like  a  drum-beat,  followed  each 
other  at  short  intervals,  intermingled  with 
a  deafening  rumble  ;  or  perhaps  all  was  con- 
founded in  a  hubbub  of  prolonged  rolls,  like 
peals  of  thunder  at  the  height  of  a  storm 
when  the  rain  begins  to  fall.  Every  one 
said,  and  indeed  it  could  be  heard,  that  the 
violence  of  the  bombardment  was  terrible. 
The  officer  urged  his  servant  to  hasten. 
They  met  a  line  of  carts  driven  by  Russian 
peasants,  who  had  carried  provisions  to  Se- 
bastopol,  and  who  were  on  their  way  back, 
bringing  sick  and  wounded  soldiers  in  gray 
overcoats,  sailors  in  black  pilot-coats,  volun- 
teers in  red  fez  caps,  and  bearded  militia- 
men. The  officer's  carriage  was  forced  to 
stop,  and  he,  grimacing  and  squinting  his 
eyes  in  the  impenetrable  and  motionless 
cloud  of  dust  raised  by  the  carts,  which  flew 
into  the  eyes  and  ears  on  all  sides,  examined 
the  faces  as  they  passed  by. 


128  Sebastopol. 

"  There  is  a  sick  soldier  of  our  company," 
said  the  servant,  turning  towards  his  mas- 
ter and  pointing  to  a  wounded  man. 

Seated  sidewise  on  the  front  of  his  cart 
a  Russian  peasant,  wearing  his  whole  beard, 
a  felt  cap  on  his  head,  was  tying  a  knot  in 
an  enormous  whip,  w^hich  he  held  by  the 
handle  under  his  elbow.  He  turned  his 
back  to  four  or  five  soldiers  shaken  and 
tossed  about  in  the  vehicle.  One  of  them, 
his  arm  tied  up,  his  overcoat  thrown  on  over 
his  shirt,  seated  erect  and  firm,  although 
somewhat  pale  and  thin,  occupied  the  mid- 
dle place.  Perceiving  the  officer,  he  instinct- 
ively raised  his  hand  to  his  cap,  but  remem- 
bering his  wound,  he  made  believe  he  want- 
ed to  scratch  his  head.  Another  one  was 
lying  down  beside  him  on  the  bottom  of 
the  cart.  All  that  could  be  seen  of  him  was 
his  two  hands  clinging  to  the  wooden  bars, 
and  his  two  raised  knees  swinging  nerve- 
lessly like  two  hempen  dish-rags.  A  third, 
with  swollen  face,  his  head  wTapped  with  a 
cloth  on  which  was  placed  his  soldier's  cap, 
seated  sidewise,  his  legs  hanging  outside  and 
grazing  the  wheel,  was  dozing,  his  hands 
resting  on  his  knees. 


August,  i8^^.  i2g 

"  Doljikoff !"  the  traveller  shouted  at  him. 

"  Present !"  replied  the  latter,  opening  his 
eyes  and  taking  off  his  cap.  His  bass  voice 
was  so  full,  so  tremendous,  that  it  seemed  to 
come  out  of  the  chest  of  twenty  soldiers  to- 
gether. 

"  When  were  you  wounded  ?" 

"  Health  to  your  Excellency!"*  he  cried 
with  his  strong  voice,  his  glassy  and  swollen 
eyes  growing  animated  at  the  sight  of  his 
superior  ofTficer. 

"  Where  is  the  regiment  V 

"At  Sebastopol,  your  Excellency.  They 
are  thinking  of  going  away  from  there 
Wednesday." 

"  Where  to  ?" 

"  They  don't  know  —  to  Severnai'a,  no 
doubt,  your  Excellency.  At  present,"  he 
continued,  dragging  his  words,  ''he  is  firing 
straight  through  everything,  especially  with 
shells,  even  away  into  the  bay.  He  is  firing 
in  a  frightful  manner! — "  And  he  added 
words  which  could  not  be  understood ;  but 
from  his  face  and  from  his  position  it  could 

*  This  is  the  literal  translation  of  the  common  phrase 
used  by  the  soldiers  in  reply  to  a  greeting  from  their  su- 
perior officers. — Trans. 

9 


ijo  Scbaslopol. 

be  guessed  that,  with  a  suffering  man's  sense 
of  injury,  he  was  saying  something  of  a  not 
very  consoHng  nature. 

Sub-Heutenant  Koseltzoff,  who  had  just 
asked  these  questions,  was  neither  an  officer 
of  ordinary  stamp  nor  among  the  number  of 
those  who  live  and  act  in  a  certain  way  be- 
cause others  hve  and  act  thus.  His  nature 
had  been  richly  endowed  with  inferior  qual- 
ities. He  sang  and  played  the  guitar  in  an 
agreeable  manner,  he  conversed  well,  and 
wrote  with  facility,  especially  official  corre- 
spondence, of  which  he  had  got  the  trick 
during  his  service  as  battalion  aide-de-camp. 
His  energy  was  remarkable,  but  this  en- 
ergy only  received  its  impulse  from  self- 
love,  and  although  grafted  on  this  second- 
rate  capacity,  it  formed  a  salient  and  char- 
acteristic trait  of  his  nature.  That  kind  of 
self-love  which  is  most  commonly  developed 
among  men,  especially  among  military  men, 
was  so  filtered  through  his  existence  that  he 
did  not  conceive  a  possible  choice  between 
"  first  or  nothing."  Self-love  was  then  the 
motive  force  of  his  most  intimate  enthusi- 
asms. Even  alone  in  his  own  presence 
he  was  fond  of  considering  himself  supe- 


August,  1855.  iji 

rior  to  tliose  with  whom  he  compared  him- 
self. 

"  Come  !  I  am  not  going  to  be  the  one  to 
listen  to  'Moscow's'*  chatter!"  murmured 
the  sub-lieutenant,  whose  thoughts  had  been 
troubled  somewhat  by  meeting  the  train  of 
wounded ;  and  the  soldier's  words,  the  impor- 
tance of  which  was  increased  and  confirmed 
at  each  step  by  the  sound  of  the  cannonade, 
weighed  heavily  on  his  heart. 

"  They  are  curious  fellows  these  '  Mos- 
cows  ' —  Come,  Nicolai'eff,  forward  !  you 
are  asleep,  I  think,"  he  angrily  shouted  at 
his  servant,  throwing  back  the  lappels  of 
his  coat. 

Nicolai'eff  shook  the  reins,  made  a  little 
encouraging  sound  with  his  lips,  and  the 
wagon  went  off  at  a  trot. 

"We  will  stop  only  to  feed  them,"  said 
the  officer,  "and  then  on  the  road  —  for- 
ward !" 

II. 

Just  as  he  entered  the  street  of  Douvan- 
ka,  where  everything  was  in  ruins,  Sub-lieu- 

*  In  certain  regiments  the  officers  nicknamed  the  sol- 
diers "Moscow,"  half  in  scorn,  half  in  kindly  sport. — 
Trans. 


IJ2  Sebastopol. 

tenant  Koseltzoff  was  stopped  by  a  wagon- 
train  of  cannon-balls  and  shells  sfoinof  tow- 
ards  Sebastopol,  which  was  halted  in  the 
middle  of  the  road. 

Two  infantrymen,  seated  in  the  dust  on 
the  stones  of  an  overthrown  wall,  were  eat- 
ing bread  and  watermelon. 

"Are  you  going  far,  fellow-countryman.?" 
said  one  of  them,  chewing  his  mouthful. 
He  was  speaking  to  a  soldier  standing  near 
them  with  a  small  knapsack  on  his  shoulder. 

"  We  are  going  to  join  our  company ;  we 
have  come  from  the  country,"  replied  the 
soldier,  turning  his  eyes  from  the  watermel- 
on and  arranging  his  knapsack.  "  For  three 
weeks  we  have  been  guarding  the  compa- 
ny's hay,  but  now  they  have  summoned  ev- 
erybody, and  we  don't  know  where  our  regi- 
ment is  to-day.  They  tell  us  that  since  last 
week  our  fellows  have  been  at  Korabelnaia. 
Do  you  know  anything  about  it,  gentlemen .?" 

*'  It  is  in  the  city,  brother,  in  the  city,"  re- 
plied an  old  soldier  of  the  wagon-train,  busy 
cutting  with  his  pocket-knife  the  white  meat 
of  an  unripe  melon.  "  We  just  came  from 
there.     What  a  terrible  business,  brother !" 

"  What  is  that,  gentlemen .?" 


August,  i8s5'  ^33 

"  Don't  you  hear  how  he  is  firing  now  ? 
No  shelter  anywhere !  It  is  frightful  how 
many  of  our  men  he  has  killed !"  added  the 
speaker,  making  a  gesture,  and  straighten- 
ing up  his  cap. 

The  soldier  on  his  travels  pensively  shook 
his  head,  clacked  his  tongue,  took  his  short 
pipe  out  of  its  box,  stirred  up  the  half-burn- 
ed tobacco  with  bis  finger,  lighted  a  bit  of 
tinder  from  the  pipe  of  a  comrade  who  was 
smoking,  and  lifting  his  cap,  said, 

"  There  is  no  one  but  God,  gentlemen. 
We  say  good-by  to  you  ;"  and  putting  his 
knapsack  in  place,  went  his  way. 

"Ah  !  it  is  better  worth  while  to  wait," 
said  the  watermelon  eater,  with  tone  of  con- 
viction. 

"  It  is  all  the  same,"  murmured  the  sol- 
dier, settling  the  knapsack  on  his  back,  and 
worming  his  way  between  the  wheels  of  the 

halted  carts. 

III. 

At  the  station  for  horses  Koseltzoff  found 
a_  crowd  of  people,  and  the  first  figure  he 
perceived  was  the  postmaster  in  person, 
very  young  and  very  thin,  quarrelling  with 
two  officers. 


IJ4  Sebastopol. 

"  You  will  not  only  wait  twenty-four  hours 
but  ten  times  twenty-four  hours.  Generals 
wait  too,"  he  said,  with  the  evident  wish  to 
stir  them  up  in  a  lively  manner.  "  And  I 
am  not  going  to  hitch  myself  in,  you  under- 
stand !" 

"  If  this  is  so,  if  there  are  no  horses,  they 
can't  be  given  to  any  one.  Why,  then,  are 
they  given  to  a  servant  who  is  carrying  bag- 
gage ?"  shouted  one  of  the  two  soldiers, 
holding  a  glass  of  tea  in  his  hand. 

Although  he  carefully  avoided  using  per- 
sonal pronouns,  it  could  easily  be  guessed 
that  he  would  have  liked  to  say  thee  and 
thou  to  his  interlocutor. 

"  I  want  you  to  understand,  Mr.  Postmas- 
ter," hesitatingly  said  the  other  ofificer, 
"  that  we  are  not  travelling  for  our  pleas- 
ure. If  we  have  been  summoned  it  is  be- 
cause we  are  necessary.  You  can  be  sure 
I  will  tell  the  general,  for  it  really  seems 
as  if  you  have  no  respect  for  the  rank  of 
officer." 

"  You  spoil  my  work  every  time,  and  you 
are  in  my  way,"  rejoined  his  comrade,  half 
vexed.  "  Why  do  you  talk  to  him  about 
respect  ?     You   have   to    speak   to   him   in 


August,  1855.  ijs 

another   manner.      Horses !"    he    suddenly 
shouted,  "  horses,  this  instant !" 

"  I  wouldn't  ask  better  than  to  give  them 
to  you,  but  where  can  I  get  them  ?  I  un- 
derstand very  well,  my  friend,"  continued 
the  postmaster,  after  a  moment  of  silence, 
and  warming  up  by  degrees  as  he  gesticu- 
lated, "  but  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ? 
Let  me  just " —  and  the  officers'  faces  at 
once  had  a  hopeful  expression — "  keep  soul 
and  body  together  to  the  end  of  the  month, 
and  then  I  won't  be  seen  any  longer.  I 
would  rather  go  to  the  Malakoff  than  re- 
main here,  God  knows  !  Do  what  you  like 
— but  I  haven't  a  single  wagon  in  good  con- 
dition, and  for  three  days  the  horses  haven't 
seen  a  handful  of  hay." 

At  these  words  he  disappeared.  Koselt- 
zoff  and  the  two  officers  entered  the  house. 

"  So !"  said  the  elder  to  the  younger  with 
a  calm  tone,  which  strongly  contrasted  with 
his  recent  wrath.  "  We  are  already  three 
months  on  the  road.  Let's  wait.  It  is  no 
misfortune ;  there  isn't  any  hurry." 

Koseltzoff  with  difficulty  found  in  the 
room  of  the  post-house,  all  smoky,  dirty,  and 
filled  with  officers  and  trunks,  an  empty  cor- 


Ij6  Sebastopol. 

ner  near  the  window.  He  sat  down  there, 
and,  rolling  a  cigarette,  began  to  examine 
faces  and  to  listen  to  conversations.  The 
chief  group  was  j^laced  on  the  right  of  the 
entrance  door,  around  a  shaky  and  greasy 
table  on  which  two  copper  tea-urns,  stained 
here  and  there  with  verdigris,  were  boiling ; 
lump  -  sugar  was  strewn  about  in  several 
paper  wrappings.  A  young  officer  without 
a  mustache,  in  a  new  Circassian  coat,  was 
pouring  water  into  a  teapot ;  four  others  of 
about  his  own  ao;e  w^re  scattered  in  differ- 
ent  corners  of  the  room.  One  of  them,  his 
head  placed  on  a  cloak  which  served  him  as 
a  pillow,  was  sleeping  on  a  divan  ;  another, 
standing  near  a  table,  was  cutting  roast  mut- 
ton into  small  mouthfuls  for  a  one-armed 
comrade.  Two  officers,  one  in  an  aide-de- 
camp's  overcoat,  the  other  in  a  fine  cloth 
infantry  overcoat,  and  carrying  a  saddle-bag, 
were  sitting  beside  the  stove;  and  it  could 
be  readily  divined  by  the  way  they  looked 
at  the  others,  by  the  manner  the  one  with 
the  saddle-bag  was  smoking,  that  they  were 
not  officers  of  the  line,  and  that  they  were 
very  glad  of  it.  Their  manner  did  not  be- 
tray scorn  but  a  certain   satisfaction  with 


August,  iS^^.  ijy 

themselves,  founded  partly  on  their  relations 
with  the  generals,  and  on  a  feeling  of  supe- 
riority developed  to  such  a  point  that  they 
tried  to  conceal  it  from  others.  There  was 
also  in  the  place  a  doctor  with  fleshy  lips, 
and  an  artilleryman  with  a  German  physi- 
ognomy, seated  almost  on  the  feet  of  the 
sleeper,  busily  counting  money.  Four  men- 
servants,  some  dozing,  some  fumbling  in  the 
trunks  and  the  packets  heaped  up  near  the 
door,  completed  the  number  of  those  pres- 
ent, among  whom  Koseltzoff  found  not  a 
face  he  knew.  The  young  officers  pleased 
him.  He  guessed  at  once  from  their  appear- 
ance that  they  had  just  come  out  of  school, 
and  this  called  to  his  mind  that  his  young 
brother  was  also  coming  straight  therefrom 
to  serve  in  one  of  the  Sebastopol  batteries. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  officer  with  the  sad- 
dle-bag, whom  he  believed  he  had  met  some- 
where, altogether  displeased  him.  He  found 
him  to  have  an  expression  of  face  so  antipa- 
thetic and  so  insolent  that  he  was  going  to 
sit  down  on  the  large  base  of  the  stove,  with 
the  intention  of  putting  him  in  his  proper 
place  if  he  happened  to  say  anything  dis- 
agreeable.    In  his  quality  of  brave  and  hon- 


ijS  Sebastopol. 

orable  officer  at  the  front  he  did  not  like  the 
staff-officers,  and  for  such  he  took  these  at 
the  first  glance. 

IV. 

"  It  is  bad  luck,"  said  one  of  the  young 
fellows,  "  to  be  so  near  the  end  and  not  be 
able  to  get  there.  There  will  perhaps  be  a 
battle  to-day,  even,  and  we  will  not  be  in  it." 

The  sympathetic  timidity  of  a  young  man 
who  fears  to  say  something  out  of  place 
could  be  guessed  from  the  slightly  sharp 
sound  of  his  voice,  and  from  the  youthful 
rosiness  which  spread  in  patches  over  his 
fresh  face. 

The  one-armed  officer  looked  at  him  with 
a  smile. 

"  You  will  have  time  enough,  believe  me," 
he  said. 

The  young  officer  respectfully  turning 
his  eyes  upon  the  thin  face  of  the  latter 
suddenly  lighted  up  by  a  smile,  continued 
to  pour  the  tea  in  silence.  And  truly  the 
figure,  the  position  of  the  wounded  man, 
and,  above  all,  the  fluttering  sleeve  of  his 
uniform,  gave  him  that  appearance  of  calm 
indifference  which  seemed  to  reply  to  every- 


August,  i8sS'  139 

thing  said  and  done  about  him, "  All  this  is 
very  well,  but  I  know  it  all,  and  I  could  do 
it  if  I  wanted  to." 

"  What  shall  we  decide  to  do  ?"  asked  the 
young  officer  of  his  comrade  with  the  Cir- 
cassian coat,  "  Shall  we  pass  the  night  here, 
or  shall  we  push  on  with  our  single  horse  ? 

"Just  think  of  it,  captain,"  he  continued, 
when  his  companion  had  declined  his  sug- 
gestion (he  spoke  to  the  one-armed  man, 
picking  up  a  knife  he  had  dropped), "  since 
they  told  us  that  horses  could  not  be  had  at 
Sebastopol  at  any  price,  we  bought  one  out 
of  the  common  purse  at  Sympheropol." 

"  Did  they  skin  you  well  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,  captain. 
We  paid  for  the  whole  thing,  horse  and 
wagon,  ninety  rubles.  Is  it  very  dear.?"  he 
added,  addressing  all  who  looked  at  him, 
Koseltzoff  included. 

"  It  isn't  too  dear  if  the  horse  is  young," 
said  the  latter. 

"  Isn't  it }  Nevertheless,  we  have  been 
assured  it  was  dear.  He  limps  a  little,  it  is 
true,  but  that  will  go  off.  They  told  us  he 
was  very  strong." 

"  What  institution  are  you  from  ?"  Kosel- 


1^0  Sebastopol. 

tzoff  asked  him,  wishing  to  get  news  of  his 
brother. 

"  We  belonged  to  the  regiment  of  the 
nobility.  There  are  six  of  us  who  are  go- 
ing of  our  own  accord  to  Sebastopol,"  re- 
plied the  loquacious  little  ofhcer,  "  but  we 
don't  exactly  know  where  our  battery  is. 
Some  say  at  Sebastopol,  but  this  gentleman 
says  it  is  at  Odessa." 

"  Wouldn't  you  have  been  able  to  find 
out  at  Sympheropol .?"  asked  Koseltzoff. 

"  They  didn't  know  anything  there.  Im- 
agine it.  They  insulted  one  of  our  com- 
rades who  went  to  the  government  office 
for  information  !  It  was  very  disagreeable. 
Wouldn't  you  like  to  have  this  cigarette, 
already  rolled  ?"  he  continued,  offering  it  to 
the  one-armed  officer,  who  was  looking  for 
his  cigar-case. 

The  young  man's  enthusiasm  even  en- 
tered into  the  little  attentions  he  showered 
on  him. 

"  You  have  also  just  come  from  Sebasto- 
pol ?"  he  rejoined.  "  Heavens,  how  astonish- 
ing !  At  Petersburg  we  did  nothing  but  think 
of  you  all,  you  heroes  !"  he  added,  turning  to 
Koseltzoff  with  good-fellowshijD  and  respect. 


August,  i^SS'  ^4^ 

"  What  if  you  are  obliged  to  go  back 
there  ?"  asked  the  latter. 

"That's  just  what  we  are  afraid  of;  for 
after  having  bought  the  horse  and  what  we 
had  to  get  —  this  coffee-pot,  for  example, 
and  a  few  other  trifles — we  are  left  without 
a  penny,"  he  said,  in  a  lower  tone,  casting 
a  look  at  his  companion  on  the  sly,  "so  that 
we  don't  know  how  we  are  going  to  get  out 
of  it." 

"  You  haven't  received  money  on  the 
road,  then  ?"  Koseltzoff  asked  him. 

"No,"  murmured  the  young  man,  "but 
they  promised  to  give  it  to  us  here." 

"  Have  you  the  certificate  ?" 

"  I  know  the  certificate  is  the  chief  thing. 
One  of  my  uncles,  a  Senator  at  Moscow, 
could  have  given  it  to  me,  but  I  was  as- 
sured I  should  receive  it  here  without 
fail." 

"  Doubtless." 

"  I  believe  it  also,"  replied  the  young  offi- 
cer, in  a  tone  which  proved  that  after  hav- 
ing repeated  the  same  question  in  thirty  dif- 
ferent places,  and  having  received  different 
replies  everywhere,  he  no  longer  believed 
any  one. 


142  Sebastopol. 

V. 

"  Who  ordered  beet  soup  ?"  shouted  the 
house-keeper  at  this  moment,  a  stout,  slov- 
enly dressed  wench,  about  forty  years  old, 
who  was  bringing  in  a  great  earthen 
dish. 

There  was  a  general  silence,  and  every 
eye  was  turned  towards  the  woman.  One 
of  the  officers  even  winked,  exchanging  with 
his  comrade  a  look  which  plainly  referred  to 
the  matron. 

"  But  it  was  Koseltzoff  who  ordered  it," 
rejoined  the  young  officer ;  "  we  must  wake 
him  up.  Halloo !  come  and  eat,"  he  added, 
approaching  the  sleeper  and  shaking  him 
by  the  shoulder. 

A  youth  of  seventeen  years,  with  black, 
lively,  sparkling  eyes  and  red  cheeks,  rose 
with  a  bound,  and  having  involuntarily  push- 
ed against  the  doctor,  said,  "A  thousand  par- 
dons !"  rubbing  his  eyes  and  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  room. 

Sub -lieutenant  Koseltzoff  immediately 
recognized  his  younger  brother  and  went 
up  to  him. 

*'  Do  you  know  me .''"  he  asked. 


August,  1 8s 5'  143 

"Oh,  oh,  what  an  astonishing  thing!"  cried 
the  younger,  embracing  him. 

Two  kisses  were  heard,  but  just  as  they 
were  about  to  give  each  other  a  third,  as 
the  custom  is,  they  hesitated  a  moment.  It 
miofht  have  been  said  that  each  asked  him- 
self  why  he  must  kiss  three  times. 

"  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you !"  said  the 
elder,  leading  his  brother  outside.  "  Let's 
chat  a  bit." 

"  Come,  come !  I  don't  want  any  soup 
now.  Eat  it  up,  Federson,"  said  the  youth 
to  his  comrade. 

"  But  you  were  hungry — " 

"  No,  I  don't  want  it  now." 

Once  outside  on  the  piazza,  after  the  first 
joyous  outbursts  of  the  youth,  who  went  on 
to  ask  his  brother  questions  without  speak- 
ing to  him  of  that  which  concerned  himself, 
the  latter,  profiting  by  a  moment  of  silence, 
asked  him  why  he  had  not  gone  into  the 
guard,  as  they  had  expected  him  to  do. 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  go  to  Sebastopol. 
If  everything  comes  out  all  right,  I  shall 
gain  more  than  if  I  had  remained  in  the 
guard.  In  that  branch  of  the  service  you 
have  to  count  ten  years  to  the  rank  of  cola- 


144  Sebastopol. 

nel,  while  here  Todtleben  has  gone  from 
Heutenant-colonel  to  general  in  two  years. 
And  if  I  am  killed,  well,  then,  what's  to  be 
done  ?" 

"  How  you  do  argue,"  said  the  elder  broth- 
er, with  a  smile. 

"And  then,  that  I  have  just  told  you  is  of 
no  importance.  The  chief  reason  " — and  he 
stopped,  hesitating,  smiling  in  his  turn,  and 
blushing  as  if  he  were  going  to  say  some- 
thing very  shameful — "  the  chief  reason  is 
that  my  conscience  bothered  me.  I  felt 
scruples  at  living  in  Petersburg  while  men 
are  dying  here  for  their  country.  I  counted 
also  on  being  with  you,"  he  added,  still  more 
bashfully. 

"  You  are  a  curious  fellow,"  said  the  broth- 
er, without  looking  at  him,  hunting  for  his 
cigar-case.  "  I  am  sorry  wt.  can't  stay  to- 
gether." 

"  Come,  pray  tell  me  the  truth  about  the 
bastions.     Are  they  horribly  frightful  ?" 

"  Yes,  at  first ;  then  one  gets  used  to  it. 
You  will  see." 

"  Tell  me  also,  please,  do  you  think  Se- 
bastopol will  be  taken  t  It  seems  to  me 
that  such  a  thing  cannot  happen." 


August,  iSs5'  146 

"  God  only  knows  !" 

"  Oh,  if  you  only  knew  how  annoyed  I  am  ! 
Imagine  my  misfortune.  On  the  road  I 
have  been  robbed  of  different  things,  among 
others  my  helmet,  and  I  am  in  a  fearful  po- 
sition. What  will  I  do  when  I  am  present- 
ed to  my  chief  V 

Vladimir  Koseltzoff,  the  3'ounger,  looked 
very  much  like  his  brother  Michael,  at  least 
as  much  as  a  half -open  columbine  can 
resemble  one  which  has  lost  its  flower. 
He  had  similar  blond  hair,  but  thicker,  and 
curled  around  the  temples ;  while  one  long 
lock  strayed  down  the  white  and  delicate 
back  of  his  neck ;  a  sign  of  happiness,  as 
the  old  women  say.  Rich  young  blood  sud- 
denly tinged  his  habitually  dull  complexion 
at  each  impression  of  his  soul ;  a  veil  of 
moisture  often  swept  over  his  eyes,  which 
were  like  his  brother's,  but  more  open  and 
more  limpid  ;  a  fine  blond  down  began  to 
show  on  his  cheeks  and  on  his  upper  lip, 
which,  purplish  red  in  color,  often  extended 
in  a  timid  smile,  exposing  teeth  of  dazzling 
whiteness.  As  he  stood  there  in  his  un- 
buttoned coat,  under  which  could  be  seen  a 
red  shirt  with  Russian  collar;  slender,  broad- 
10 


/./<^  Sebastopol. 

shouldered,  a  cigarette  between  his  fingers, 
leaning  against  the  balustrade  of  the  piazza, 
his  face  lighted  up  by  unaffected  joy,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  his  brother,  he  was  really  the 
most  charming  and  most  sympathetic  youth 
possible  to  see,  and  one  looked  away  from 
him  reluctantly.  Frankly  happy  to  find  his 
brother,  whom  he  considered  with  pride  and 
respect  as  a  hero,  he  was,  nevertheless,  a  little 
ashamed  of  him  on  account  of  his  own  more 
cultivated  education,  of  his  acquaintance 
with  French,  of  his  association  with  people 
in  high  places,  and  finding  himself  superior 
to  him,  he  hoped  to  succeed  in  civilizing  him. 
His  impressions,  his  judgments,  were  formed 
at  Petersburg^  under  the  influence  of  a  wom- 
an  who,  having  a  weakness  for  pretty  faces, 
made  him  pass  his  holidays  in  her  house. 
Moscow  had  also  contributed  its  part,  for 
he  had  danced  there  at  a  great  ball  at  the 
house  of  his  uncle  the  Senator. 


VI. 

After  having  chatted  so  long  as  to  prove, 
what  often  happens,  that,  while  loving  each 
other  very  much,  they  had  few  common  in- 


August,  J'^SS-  ^47 

terests,  the  brothers  were  silent  for  a  mo- 
ment or  two. 

"  Come,  get  your  traps  and  we'll  go,"  said 
the  elder. 

The  younger  blushed  and  was  confused. 

"  Straight  away  to  Sebastopol  ?"  he  ask- 
ed, at  length. 

.  "  Of  course.  I  don't  believe  you  have 
many  things  with  you ;  we  will  find  a  place 
for  them." 

"All  right,  we'll  go,"  replied  the  younger, 
as  he  went  into  the  house  sighing. 

Just  as  he  was  opening  the  door  of  the 
hall  he  stopped  and  held  down  his  head. 

"  Go  straight  to  Sebastopol,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "  be  exposed  to  shells — it  is  terrible  ! 
However,  isn't  it  all  the  same  whether  it  is 
to-day  or  later  ?    At  least  with  my  brother — " 

To  tell  the  truth,  at  the  thought  that  the 
carriage  would  carry  him  as  far  as  Sebasto- 
pol in  a  single  trip,  that  no  new  incident 
would  delay  him  longer  on  the  road,  he  be- 
gan to  appreciate  the  danger  he  had  come 
to  meet,  and  the  proximity  of  it  profoundly 
moved  him.  Having  succeeded  in  calming 
himself  at  last,  he  rejoined  his  comrades,  and 
remained  such  a  long  time  with  them  that 


/-/c?  Sebastopol. 

his  brother,  out  of  patience,  opened  the  door 
to  call  him,  and  saw  him  standing  before  the 
officer,  who  was  scolding  him  like  a  school- 
boy. At  the  sight  of  his  brother  his  coun- 
tenance fell. 

"  I'll  come  at  once,"  he  shouted,  making 
a  gesture  with  his  hand ;  "  wait  for  me,  I'm 
coming!" 

A  moment  later  he  went  to  find  him. 

"  Just  think,"  he  said,  with  a  deep  sigh,"  I 
can't  go  off  with  you." 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense  !     Why  not  T 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Micha. 
We  haven't  a  penny ;  on  the  other  hand, 
we  owe  money  to  that  captain.  It  is  horri- 
bly shameful !" 

The  elder  brother  scowled  and  kept  silent. 

"Do  you  owe  much.?"  he  asked  at  last, 
without  looking  at  him. 

"  No,  not  much  ;  but  it  worries  me  awfully. 
He  paid  three  posts  for  me.  I  used  his  sugar, 
and  then  we  played  the  game  of  preference, 
and  I  owe  him  a  trifle  on  that." 

"  That's  bad,  Volodia !  What  would  you 
have  done  if  you  hadn't  met  me  V  said  the 
elder,  in  a  stern  tone,  never  looking  at  him. 

"  But  you  know  I  count  on  receiving  my 


A  HO  MS  t,  iSjS'  H9 

travelling  expenses  at  Sebastopol,  and  then 
I  shall  pay  him.  That  can  still  be  done ; 
and  so  I  had  rather  go  there  with  him  to- 


morrow." 


At  this  moment  the  elder  brother  took  a 
purse  out  of  his  pocket,  from  which  his  trem- 
bling finQ:ers  drew  two  notes  of  ten  rubles 
each  and  one  of  three. 

"  Here's  all  I  have,"  said  he.  "  How  much 
do  you  want .?"  He  exaggerated  a  little  in 
saying  that  it  was  all  his  fortune,  for  he  still 
had  four  gold-pieces  sewn  in  the  seams  of 
his  uniform,  but  he  had  promised  himself 
not  to  touch  them. 

It  was  found,  on  adding  up,  that  Koseltzoff 
owed  only  eight  rubles — the  loss  on  the  game 
and  the  suf^ar  toQ:ether.  The  elder  brother 
gave  them  to  him,  making  the  remark  that 
one  never  ought  to  play  when  he  had  not 
the  wherewithal  to  pay.  The  younger  said 
nothing;  for  his  brother's  remark  seemed 
to  throw  a  doubt  on  his  honesty.  Irritated, 
ashamed  of  having  done  something  which 
could  lead  to  suspicions  or  reflections  on 
his  character  on  the  part  of  his  brother,  of 
whom  he  was  fond,  his  sensitive  nature  was 
so  violently  agitated  by  it  that,  feeling  it  im- 


1^0  Sebastopol. 

possible  to  stifle  the  sobs  which  choked  him, 
he  took  the  note  without  a  word  and  car- 
ried it  to  his  comrade. 

VII. 

Nikolai'eff,  after  refreshing  himself  at 
Douvanka  with  two  glasses  of  brandy  which 
he  bought  from  a  soldier  who  was  selling  it 
on  the  bridge,  shook  the  reins,  and  the  car- 
riage jolted  over  the  stony  road  w^hich,  with 
spots  of  shadow  at  rare  intervals,  led  along 
Belbek  to  Sebastopol ;  while  the  brothers, 
seated  side  by  side,  their  legs  knocking  to- 
gether, kept  an  obstinate  silence,  each  think- 
ing about  the  other. 

"  Why  did  he  offend  mq .?"  thought  the 
younger.  "  Does  he  really  take  me  for  a 
thief  .-^  He  seems  to  be  still  angry.  Here 
we  have  quarrelled  for  good,  and  yet  w^e 
two,  how  happy  w^e  could  have  been  at  Se- 
bastopol !  Two  brothers,  intimate  friends, 
and  both  fighting  the  enemy  —  the  elder 
lacking  cultivation  a  little,  but  a  brave  sol- 
dier, and  the  younger  as  brave  as  he,  for  at 
the  end  of  a  week  I  shall  have  proved  to  all 
that  I  am  no  longer  so  young.  I  sha'n't 
blush  any  more ;  my  face  will  be  manly  and 


Augtist,  iS^^,  i^i 

my  mustache  will  have  time  to  grow  so  far,'' 
he  thought,  pinching  the  down  which  was 
visible  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  "  Per- 
haps we  will  get  there  to-day,  even,  and  will 
take  part  in  a  battle.  My  brother  must  be 
very  headstrong  and  very  brave ;  he  is  one 
of  those  who  talk  little  and  do  better  than 
others.  Is  he  continually  pushing  me  on 
purpose  towards  the  side  of  the  carriage.'* 
He  must  see  that  it  annoys  me,  and  he 
makes  believe  he  does  not  notice  it.  We  will 
surely  get  there  to-day,"  he  continued  to  him- 
self, keeping  close  to  the  side  of  the  carriage, 
fearing  if  he  stirred  that  he  would  show  his 
brother  he  was  not  well  seated.  "  We  go 
straight  to  the  bastion — I  with  the  artillery, 
my  brother  with  his  company.  Suddenly 
the  French  throw  themselves  upon  us.  I 
fire  on  the  spot,  I  kill  a  crowd  of  them,  but 
they  run  just  the  same  straight  upon  me. 
Impossible  to  fire  —  I  am  lost !  but  my 
brother  dashes  forward,  sword  in  hand.  I 
seize  my  musket  and  we  run  together ;  the 
soldiers  follow  us.  The  French  throw^  them- 
selves on  my  brother.  I  run  up ;  I  kill  first 
one,  then  another,  and  I  save  Micha.  I  am 
wounded  in  the  arm ;  I  take  my  musket  in 


1^2  Sebastopol. 

the  other  hand  and  run  on.  My  brother  is 
killed  at  my  side  by  a  bullet ;  I  stop  a  mo- 
ment, I  look  at  him  sadly,  I  rise  and  cry, 
•  Forward  with  me  !  let  us  avenge  him  !'  I 
add,  '  I  loved  my  brother  above  everything; 
I  have  lost  him.  Let  us  avenge  ourselves, 
kill  our  enemies,  or  all  die  together!'  All 
follow  me,  shouting.  But  there  is  the  whole 
French  army,  Pelissier  at  their  head.  We 
kill  all  of  them,  but  I  am  w^ounded  once, 
twice,  and  the  third  time  mortally.  They 
gather  around  me.  Gortschakoff  comes  and 
asks  what  I  wish  for.  I  reply  that  I  wish 
for  nothing — I  wish  for  only  one  thing,  to 
be  placed  beside  my  brother  and  to  die  with 
him.  They  carry  me  and  lay  me  down  be- 
side his  bloody  corpse.  I  raise  myself  up 
and  say,  '  Yes,  you  could  not  appreciate 
two  men  who  sincerely  loved  their  country. 
They  are  killed  —  may  God  pardon  you !' 
and  thereupon  I  die." 

Who  could  tell  to  what  point  these  dreams 
were  destined  to  be  realized } 

"  Have  you  ever  been  in  a  hand-to-hand 
fight  ?"  he  suddenly  asked  his  brother,  en- 
tirely forgetting  that  he  did  not  want  to 
speak  to  him  again. 


August,  i8sS'  153 

'*  No,  never.  We  have  lost  two  thousand 
men  in  our  regiment,  but  always  in  the 
works.  I  also  was  wounded  there.  War  is 
not  carried  on  as  you  imagine,  Volodia." 

This  familiar  name  softened  the  younger. 
He  wished  to  explain  himself  to  his  brother, 
who  did  not  imagine  he  had  offended  him. 

"  Are  you  angry  with  me,  Micha  T'  he 
asked,  after  a  few  moments. 

"  Why  ?" 

-"  Because — nothing.  I  thought  there  had 
been  between  us — " 

"  Not  at  all,"  rejoined  the  elder,  turning 
towards  him  and  giving  him  a  friendly  tap 
on  the  knee. 

"  I  ask  pardon,  Micha,  if  I  have  offended 
you,"  said  the  younger,  turning  aside  to  hide 
the  tears  which  filled  his  eyes. 

VIII. 

"  Is  this  really  Sebastopol  ?"  asked  Volo- 
dia, when  they  had  reached  the  top  of  the 
hill. 

Before  them  appeared  the  bay  with  its 
forest  of  masts,  the  sea,  with  the  hostile 
fleet  in  the  distance,  the  white  shore  batte- 
ries, the  barracks,  the  aqueducts,  the  docks. 


I  ^4  Sebastopol. 

the  buildings  of  the  city.  Clouds  of  white 
and  pale  lilac-colored  smoke  continually  rose 
over  the  yellow  hills  that  surrounded  the 
city,  and  came  out  sharp  against  the  clear 
blue  sky,  lighted  by  the  rosy  rays,  brilliant- 
ly reflected  by  the  waves ;  while  at  the  hori- 
zon the  sun  was  setting  into  the  sombre 
sea. 

It  was  without  the  least  thrill  of  horror 
that  Volodia  looked  upon  this  terrible  place 
he  had  thought  so  much  about.  He  expe- 
rienced, on  the  contrary,  an  aesthetic  joy,  a 
feeling  of  heroic  satisfaction  at  thinking  that 
in  half  an  hour  he  would  be  there  himself, 
and  it  was  with  profound  attention  that  he 
looked  uninterruptedly,  up  to  the  very  mo- 
ment they  arrived  at  Severnaia,  at  this  pict- 
ure of  such  original  charm.  There  was 
the  baggage  of  his  brother's  regiment,  and 
there  also  he  had  to  find  out  where  his  own 
regiment  and  his  battery  was. 

The  officer  of  the  w^agon-train  lived  near 
to  what  they  called  the  new  little  town,  com- 
posed of  board  shanties  built  by  sailors' 
families.  In  a  tent  adjoining  a  shed  of  con- 
siderable size,  made  of  leafy  oak  branches 
which  had  not  yet  time  to  wdther,  the  broth- 


August,  i8sS'  155 

ers  found  the  officer  sitting  down  in  a  shirt 
of  dirty  yellow  color  before  a  rather  slovenly 
table,  on  which  a  cup  of  tea  was  cooling  be- 
side a  plate  and  a  decanter  of  brandy.  A 
few  crumbs  of  bread  and  of  caviare  had  fallen 
here  and  there.  He  was  carefully  counting 
a  package  of  notes.  But  before  bringing 
him  on  the  stage,  we  must  necessarily  ex- 
amine closer  the  interior  of  his  camp,  his 
duties,  and  his  mode  of  life.  The  new  hut 
was  large,  solid,  and  conveniently  built,  pro- 
vided with  turf  tables  and  seats,  the  same  as 
they  build  for  the  generals ;  and  in  order  to 
keep  the  leaves  from  falling,  three  rugs,  in 
bad  taste,  although  new,  but  probably  very 
dear,  were  stretched  on  the  walls  and  the 
ceiling  of  the  building.  On  the  iron  bed 
placed  under  the  principal  rug,  which  repre- 
sented the  everlasting  amazon,  could  be  seen 
a  red  coverlid  of  shaggy  stuff,  a  soiled  torn 
pillow,  and  a  cloak  of  cat-skin.  On  a  table 
were,  helter-skelter,  a  mirror  in  a  silver  frame, 
a  brush  of  the  same  metal  in  a  frightfully 
dirty  state,  a  candlestick,  a  broken  horn  comb 
full  of  greasy  hair,  a  bottle  of  liquor  orna- 
mented by  an  enormous  red  and  gold  label, 
a  gold  watch  with  the  portrait  of  Peter  the 


I S^  Sebastopol. 

Great,  gilt  pen-holders,  boxes  holding  per- 
cussion-caps, a  crust  of  bread,  old  cards 
thrown  about  in  disorder,  and  finally,  under 
the  bed,  bottles,  some  empty,  others  full.  It 
was  the  duty  of  this  officer  to  look  out  for 
the  wagon -train  and  the  forage  for  the 
horses.  One  of  his  friends,  occupied  with 
financial  work,  shared  his  dwelling,  and  was 
asleep  in  the  tent  at  this  moment,  while  he 
was  making  out  the  monthly  accounts  with 
Government  money.  He  had  an  agreeable 
and  martial  appearance.  He  was  distin- 
guished by  his  great  size,  a  large  mustache, 
and  a  fair  state  of  corpulence.  But  there 
were  two  unpleasant  things  in  him  which  met 
the  eye  at  once.  First,  a  constant  perspira- 
tion on  his  face,  joined  with  a  puffiness  which 
almost  hid  his  little  gray  eyes  and  gave  him 
the  look  of  a  leather  bottle  full  of  porter, 
and,  second,  extreme  slovenliness,  which 
reached  from  his  thin  gray  hair  to  his  great 
naked  feet,  shod  in  ermine-trimmed  slippers. 
"  What  a  lot  of  money! — heavens,  what  a 
lot  of  money!"  said  Koseltzoff  the  first,  who, 
on  entering,  cast  a  hungry  look  on  the  notes. 
"  If  you  would  lend  me  half,  Vassili  Mikhai- 
lovitch !" 


August,  1 855.  157 

The  officer  of  the  wagon-train  looked  sour 
at  the  sight  of  the  visitors,  and  gathering 
up  the  money,  saluted  them  without  rising. 

"  Oh,  if  it  were  mine,  but  it  is  money  be- 
loneinof  to  the  Crown,  brother !  But  whom 
have  you  there  ?" 

He  looked  at  Volodia  while  he  piled  up 
the  papers  and  put  them  in  an  open  chest 
beside  him. 

"  It  is  my  brother  just  out  of  school.  We 
come  to  ask  where  the  regiment  is." 

"  Sit  down,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  rising  to 
go  into  the  tent.  "  Can  I  offer  you  a  little 
porter  ?" 

"  I  agree  to  porter,  Vassili  Mikhailovitch." 

Volodia,  on  whom  a  profound  impression 
was  produced  by  the  grand  airs  of  the  offi- 
cer, as  well  as  by  his  carelessness  and  by 
the  respect  his  brother  showed  him,  said  to 
himself  timidly,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the 
lounge,  "  This  officer,  whom  everybody  re- 
spects, is  doubtless  a  good  fellow,  hospitable, 
and  probably  very  brave." 

"  Where  is  our  regiment,  then  T  asked 
the  elder  brother  from  the  officer,  who  had 
disappeared  in  the  tent. 

"What  do  you  say.?"  shouted  the  latter. 


i^S  Sebastopol. 

The  other  repeated  his  question. 

"  I  saw  Seifer  to-day,"  he  replied;  "  he  told 
me  it  was  in  the  fifth  bastion." 

"  Is  it,  sure  ?" 

"  If  I  say  so  it  is  sure.  However,  devil 
take  him !  he  lies  cheaply  enough  !  Say," 
he  added,  "  will  you  have  some  porter  ?" 

"  I  would  gladly  take  a  drink,"  replied  Ko- 
seltzoff. 

"And  you,  Ossip  Ignatievitch,"  continued 
the  same  voice  in  the  tent,  addressing  the 
sleeping  commissary,  "  will  you  have  a  drink } 
You  have  slept  enough ;  it  is  almost  five 
o'clock." 

"  Enough  of  that  old  joke.  You  see  well 
enough  that  I  am  not  asleep,"  replied  a  shrill 
and  lazy  voice. 

"  Get  up,  then,  for  I  am  tired  of  it,"  and 
the  ofificer  rejoined  his  guests.  "  Give  us 
some  Sympheropol  porter !"  he  shouted  to 
his  servant. 

The  latter,  pushing  against  Volodia  proud- 
ly, as  it  appeared  to  the  young  man,  pulled 
out  from  under  the  bench  a  bottle  of  the 
porter  called  for. 

The  bottle  had  been  empty  some  time, 
but  the  conversation  was  still  going  on,  when 


August,  1 8^^,  I ^g 

the  flap  of  the  tent  was  put  aside  to  let  pass 
a  small  man  in  a  blue  dressing-gown  with 
cord  and  tassel,  and  a  cap  trimmed  with 
red  braid  and  ornamented  with  a  cockade. 

With  lowered  eyes,  and  twisting  his  black 
mustache,  he  only  replied  to  the  officer's  sa- 
lute by  an  imperceptible  movement  of  the 
shoulders. 

"  Give  me  a  glass,"  he  said,  sitting  down 
near  the  table.  "  Surely  you  have  just  come 
from  Petersburg,  young  man  ?"  he  said,  ad- 
dressing Volodia  with  an  amiable  air. 

"  Yes,  and  I  am  going  to  Sebastopol." 

"  Of  your  own  accord  V 

"  Yes." 

"  Why  in  the  devil  are  3^ou  going,  then .? 
Gentlemen,  really  I  don't  understand  that," 
continued  the  commissary.  "  It  seems  to 
me,  if  I  could,  I  would  go  back  to  Peters- 
burg on  foot.  I  have  had  my  bellyful  of 
this  cursed  existence." 

"  But  what  are  you  grumbling  at  V  asked 
the  elder  Koseltzoff.  "  You  are  leadino:  a 
very  enviable  life  here." 

The  commissary,  surprised,  cast  a  look  at 
him,  turned  around,  and  addressing  Volo- 
dia, said,  "  This  constant  danger,  these  pri- 


i6o  Sebastopol. 

vatlons,  for  it  Is  impossible  to  get  anytliing — 
all  that  is  terrible.  I  really  cannot  under- 
stand you,  gentlemen.  If  you  only  got  some 
advantage  out  of  it !  But  is  it  agreeable,  I 
ask  you,  to  become  at  your  age  good-for- 
nothing  for  the  rest  of  your  days  ?" 

"  Some  try  to  make  money,  some  serve  for 
honor,"  replied  Koseltzoff  the  elder,  vexed. 

"  What  is  honor  when  there  is  nothinaf 
to  eat  V  rejoined  the  commissary,  with  a  dis- 
dainful smile,  turning  towards  the  officer  of 
the  wagon -train,  who  followed  his  example. 
"  Wind  up  the  music-box,"  he  said,  pointing 
to  a  box.     "  We'll  hear  '  Lucia ;'  I  like  that." 

"  Is  this  Vassili  Mikhailovitch  a  brave 
man,"  Volodia  asked  his  brother,  when,  twi- 
light having  fallen,  they  rolled  again  along 
the  Sebastopol  road. 

"  Neither  good  nor  bad,  but  a  terribly  mi- 
serly fellow.  As  to  the  commissary,  I  can't 
bear  to  see  even  his  picture.  I  shall  knock 
him  down  some  day." 

IX. 

When  they  arrived,  at  nightfall,  at  the 
great  bridge  over  the  bay,  Volodia  was  not 
exactly  in  bad  humor,  but  a  terrible  weight 


Atigust,  185^.  161 

lay  on  his  heart.  Everything  he  saw,  every- 
thing he  heard,  harmonized  so  Httle  with  the 
last  impressions  that  had  been  left  in  his 
mind  by  the  great,  light  examination -hall 
with  polished  floor,  the  voices  of  his  com- 
rades and  the  gayety  of  their  sympathetic 
bursts  of  laughter,  his  new  uniform,  the  well- 
beloved  Czar,  whom  he  was  accustomed  to 
see  during  seven  years,  and  who,  taking 
leave  of  them  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  had 
called  them  "his  children" — yes,  everything 
he  saw  little  harmonized  with  his  rich  dreams 
sparkling  from  a  thousand  facets. 

"  Here  we  are !"  said  his  brother,  getting 

out  of  the  carriage  in  front  of  the  M 

battery.  "  If  they  let  us  cross  the  bridge 
we  will  go  straight  to  the  Nicholas  bar- 
racks. You  will  stop  there  until  to-morrow 
morning.  As  for  me,  I  shall  go  back  to  my 
regiment  to  find  out  where  the  battery  is, 
and  to-morrow  I  will  go  and  hunt  you  up." 

"  Why  do  that  ?  rather  let's  go  together," 
said  Volodia.  "  I  will  go  to  the  bastion 
with  you ;  won't  that  be  the  same  thing  ? 
One  must  get  accustomed  to  it.  If  you  go 
there,  why  can't  I  go  V 

"  You  would  do  better  not  to  go." 
II 


i62  Sebastopol. 

"  Let  me  go— pleas'e  do.  At  least  I  will 
see  what  it  is — " 

"  I  advise  you  not  to  go  there ;  but,  never- 
theless—" 

The  cloudless  sky  was  sombre,  the  stars, 
and  the  flashes  of  the  cannon,  and  the  bombs 
flying  in  space,  shone  in  the  darkness.  The 
tete  dtL  pout  and  the  great  white  pile  of  the 
battery  came  out  sharply  in  the  dark  night. 
Every  instant  reports,  explosions,  shook  the 
air,  together  or  separately,  ever  louder,  ever 
more  distinct.  The  mournful  murmur  of 
the  waves  played  an  accompaniment  to  this 
incessant  roll.  A  fresh  breeze  filled  with 
moisture  blew  from  the  sea.  The  brothers 
approached  the  bridge.  A  soldier  awkward- 
ly shouldered  arms  and  shouted, 

"  Who  comes  there .?" 

"  A  soldier." 

"  You  can't  pass." 

"  Impossible — we  must  pass  !" 

"  Ask  the  officer." 

The  officer  was  taking  a  nap,  seated  on 
an  anchor.  He  arose  and  gave  the  order 
to  let  them  pass. 

"  You  can  go  in,  but  you  can't  come  out. 
Attention  !     Where  are  you  getting  to  all 


August,  i^SS'  ^^3 

together  ?"  he  shouted  to  the  wagons  piled 
up  with  gabions,  which  were  stopping  at  the 
entrance  to  the  bridge. 

On  the  first  pontoon  they  met  some  sol- 
diers talking  in  a  loud  voice. 

"  He  has  received  his  outfit ;  he  has  re- 
ceived it  all." 

"Ah  !  friends,"  said  another  voice,  "when 
a  fellow  gets  to  Severnaia  he  begins  to  re- 
vive. There  is  quite  another  air  here,  by 
heavens !" 

"  What  nonsense  are  you  talking  there  ?" 
said  the  first.  "  The  other  day  a  cursed 
bomb -shell  carried  away  the  legs  of  two 
sailors.     Oh!  oh!" 

The  water  in  several  places  was  dashing 
into  the  second  pontoon,  where  the  two 
brothers  stopped  to  await  their  carriage. 
The  wind,  which  had  appeared  light  on 
land,  blew  here  with  violence  and  in  gusts. 
The  bridge  swayed,  and  the  waves,  madly 
dashing  against  the  beams,  broke  upon  the 
anchors  and  the  ropes  and  flooded  the  floor- 
ing. The  sea  roared  with  a  hollow  sound, 
forming  a  black,  uniform,  endless  line,  which 
separated  it  from  the  starry  horizon,  now 
lighted  by  a  silvery  glow.     In  the  distance 


164  Sebastopol. 

twinkled  the  lights  of  the  hostile  fleet.  On 
the  left  rose  the  dark  mass  of  a  sailing  ship, 
against  the  sides  of  which  the  water  dashed 
violently;  on  the  right,  a  steamer  coming 
from  Severnai'a,  noisily  and  swiftly  advanced. 
A  bomb -shell  burst,  and  lighted  up  for  a 
second  the  heaps  of  gabions,  revealing  two 
men  standing  on  the  deck  of  the  ship,  a 
third  in  shirt-sleeves,  sittins^  with  swinofino- 
legs,  busy  repairing  the  deck,  and  showing 
the  white  foam  and  the  dashinq:  waves  with 
green  reflections  made  by  the  steamer  in 
motion. 

The  same  lights  continued  to  furrow  the 
sky  over  Sebastopol,  and  the  fear-inspiring 
sounds  came  nearer.  A  wave  driven  from 
the  sea  broke  into  foam  on  the  right  side 
of  the  bridge  and  wet  Volodia's  feet.  Two 
soldiers,  noisily  dragging  their  legs  through 
the  water,  passed  by.  Suddenly  something 
burst  with  a  crash  and  lighted  up  before 
them  the  part  of  the  bridge  along  which 
was  passing  a  carriage,  followed  by  a  sol- 
dier on  horseback.  The  pieces  fell  whist- 
ling into  the  water,  which  spouted  up  in 
jets. 

"Ah,    Mikhail    Semenovitch !"    said    the 


horseman,  drawing  up  before  Koseltzoff  the 
elder,  "  here  you  are — well  again  ?" 

"  Yes,  as  you  see.  Where  in  God's  name 
are  you  going  ?" 

"  To  Severnaia  for  cartridges.  They  send 
me  in  place  of  the  aide-de-camp  of  the  regi- 
ment. They  are  expecting  an  assault  every 
moment." 

"And  Martzeff,  where s  he.?" 

"  He  lost  a  leg  yesterday  in  the  city,  in 
his  room.  He  w^as  asleep.  You  know  him, 
perhaps." 

"  The  regiment  is  in  the  fifth,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Yes;    it  relieved  the  M .     Stop  at 

the  field -hospital,  you  will  find  our  fellows 
there  ;  they  wdll  show  you  the  way." 

"  Have  my  quarters  in  the  Morskai'a  been 

kept  r 

"Ah,  brother,  the  shells  destroyed  them 
long  since  !  You  wouldn't  recognize  Sebas- 
topol  any  longer.  There  isn't  a  soul  there ; 
neither  women,  nor  band,  nor  eating-house. 
The  last  cafe  closed  yesterday.  It  is  now 
so  dismal !  Good-by  !"  and  the  officer  went 
away  on  the  trot. 

A  terrible  fear  suddenly  seized  Volodia. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  a  shell  was  going  to 


i66  Sebastopol. 

fall  on  him,  and  that  a  piece  would  surely 
strike  him  on  the  head.  The  moist  dark- 
ness, the  sinister  sounds,  the  constant  noise 
of  the  wrathful  waves,  all  seemed  to  urge 
him  to  take  not  another  step,  and  to  tell  him 
that  no  good  awaited  him  there ;  that  his 
foot  would  never  touch  the  solid  earth  on 
the  other  side  of  the  bay ;  that  he  would  do 
well  to  turn  back,  to  flee  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible this  terrible  place  where  death  reigns. 
"  Who  knows  t  Perhaps  it  is  too  late.  My 
lot  is  fixed."  He  said  this  to  himself,  trem- 
bling at  the  thought,  and  also  on  account 
of  the  water  which  was  runnins:  into  his 
boots.  He  sighed  deeply,  and  kept  away 
from  his  brother  a  little. 

"My  God!  shall  I  really  be  killed— I .? 
Oh,  my  God,  have  mercy  on  me !"  he  mur- 
mured, making  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"  Now  we  will  push  on,  Volodia,"  said  his 
companion,  when  their  carriage  had  rejoined 
them.     "  Did  you  see  the  shell  T 

Farther  on  they  met  more  wagons  car- 
rying wounded  men  and  gabions.  One  of 
them,  filled  with  furniture,  was  driven  by  a 
woman.  On  the  other  side  no  one  stopped 
their  passage. 


A  71  gust,  1855.  iSy 

Instinctively  hugging  the  wall  of  the  Nich- 
olas battery  the  two  brothers  silently  went 
alone  it,  with  ears  attentive  to  the  noise  of 
the  shells  which  exploded  over  their  heads 
and  to  the  roar  of  the  pieces  thrown  down 
from  above ;  and  at  last  they  reached  the 
part  of  the  battery  w^here  the  holy  image 
was  placed.  There  they  learned  that  the 
Fifth  Light  Artillery  Regiment,  which  Vo- 
lodia  was  to  join,  was  at  Korabelnai'a.  They 
consequently  made  up  their  minds  in  spite 
of  the  danger  to  go  and  sleep  in  the  fifth 
bastion,  and  to  go  from  there  to  their  bat- 
tery on  the  next  day.  Passing  through  the 
narrow  passage,  stepping  over  the  soldiers 
who  were  sleeping  along  the  wall,  they  at 
last  reached  the  hospital. 

X. 

Entering  the  first  room,  filled  with  beds 
on  which  the  wounded  were  lying,  they  were 
struck  by  the  heavy  and  nauseating  odor 
which  is  peculiar  to  hospitals.  Two  Sis- 
ters of  Charity  came  to  meet  them.  One 
of  them,  about  fifty  years  old,  had  a  stern 
face  ;  she  held  in  her  hands  a  bundle  of 
bandaorcs  and  lint,  and  was  Sfivinsf  orders  to 


i68  SebastopoL 

a  very  young  assistant-surgeon  who  was  fol- 
lowing her.  The  other,  a  pretty  girl  of 
twenty,  had  a  blond,  pale,  and  delicate  face. 
She  appeared  particularly  gentle  and  timid 
under  her  little  white  cap  ;  she  followed  her 
companion  with  her  hands  in  her  apron- 
pockets,  and  it  could  be  seen  that  she  was 
afraid  of  stopping  behind.  Koseltzoff  asked 
them  to  show  him  Martzeff,  who  had  lost  a 
leg  the  day  before. 

"  Of  the  P regiment  T  asked  the  el- 
der of  the  two  sisters.  "Are  you  a  rela- 
tive ?" 

"  No,  a  comrade." 

"  Show  them  the  way,"  she  said  In  French 
to  the  younger  sister,  and  left  them,  accom- 
panied by  the  assistant-surgeon,  to  go  to  a 
wounded  man. 

"  Come,  come,  what  are  you  looking  like 
that  for.'^"  said  Koseltzoff  to  Volodia,  who 
had  stopped  with  raised  eyebrows,  and  whose 
eyes,  full  of  painful  sympathy,  could  not 
leave  the  wounded,  whom  he  watched  with- 
out ceasing,  at  the  same  time  following  his 
brother,  and  repeating,  in  spite  of  himself, 
"  Oh,  my  God  !  my  God  !" 

"  He  has  just  come  in,  has  he  not  i*"  the 


August,  i^SS-  ^^9 

young  sister  asked  Koseltzoff,  pointing  to 
Volodia. 

"  Yes,  he  has  just  come." 

She  looked  at  him  again  and  burst  into 
tears,  despairingly  repeating, "  My  God  !  my 
God  !  when  will  it  end  ?" 

They  entered  the  officers'  room.  Mar- 
tzeff  was  there,  lying  on  his  back,  his  muscu- 
lar arms  bare  to  the  elbow  and  held  under 
his  head.  The  expression  on  his  yellow  vis- 
age was  that  of  a  man  who  shuts  his  teeth 
tightly  so  as  not  to  cry  out  with  pain.  His 
well  leg,  with  a  stocking  on,  stuck  out  from 
under  the  coverlid,  and  the  toes  worked  con- 
vulsively. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  feel  V  asked  the  young 
sister,  raising"  the  wounded  man's  hot  head 
and  arranging  his  pillow  with  her  thin  fin- 
gers, on  one  of  which  Volodia  espied  a  gold 
ring.  "  Here  are  your  comrades  come  to 
see  you." 

"  I  am  suffering,  you  know,"  he  replied, 
with  an  irritated  air.  "  Don't  touch  me  ;  it 
is  well  as  it  is,"  and  the  toes  in  the  stocking 
moved  with  a  nervous  action.  "  How  do 
you  do  ?  What's  your  name  ?  Ah,  par- 
don !"  when  Koseltzoff  had  told  his  name. 


lyo  Sebastopol. 

*'  Here  everything  is  forgotten.  Neverthe- 
less we  lived  together,"  he  added,  without 
expressing  the  least  joy,  and  looking  at  Vo- 
lodia  with  a  questioning  air. 

"  It  is  my  brother;  he  has  just  come  from 
Petersburg." 

'*  Ah !  and  I  have  done  with  it,  I  believe. 
Heavens,  how  I  am  suffering !  If  that  would 
only  stop  quicker !" 

He  pulled  his  leg  in  with  a  convulsive 
movement.  His  toes  worked  with  double 
restlessness.  He  covered  his  face  with  both 
hands. 

"  He  must  be  left  in  quiet ;  he  is  very  ill," 
the  sister  whispered  to  them.  Her  eyes 
were  full  of  tears. 

The  brothers,  who  had  decided  to  go  to 
the  fifth  bastion,  changed  their  minds  on 
coming  out  of  the  hospital,  and  concluded, 
without  telling  each  other  the  true  reason, 
to  separate,  in  order  to  not  expose  them- 
selves to  useless  danger. 

"  Will  you  find  your  way,  Volodia  ?"  asked 
the  elder.  "  However,  NikolaVeff  will  lead 
you  to  Korabelnaia.  Now  I  am  going  alone, 
and  to-morrow  I  will  be  with  you." 

That  was  all  they  said  in  this  last  interview. 


August,  i8^§.  lyi 

XL 

The  cannon  roared  with  the  same  vio- 
lence, but  Ekatherinenskaia  Street,  through 
which  Volodia  went,  accompanied  by  Niko- 
laieff,  was  empty  and  quiet.  He  could  see  in 
the  darkness  only  the  white  walls  standing 
in  the  midst  of  the  great  overthrown  houses, 
and  the  stones  of  the  sidewalk  he  was  on. 
Sometimes  he  met  soldiers  and  officers,  and 
going  along  the  left  side,  near  the  Admi- 
ralty, he  noticed,  by  the  bright  light  of  a 
fire  which  burned  behind  a  fence,  a  row  of 
dark -leaved  acacias,  covered  with  dust,  re- 
cently planted  along  the  sidewalk  and  held 
up  by  green  painted  stakes.  His  steps  and 
those  of  Nikolaieff,  who  was  loudly  breath- 
insf,  resounded  alone  in  the  silence.  His 
thoughts  were  vague.  The  pretty  Sister  of 
Charity,  Martzeff's  leg,  with  his  toes  mov- 
ing convulsively  in  his  stocking,  the  dark- 
ness, the  shells,  the  different  pictures  of 
death,  passed  confusedly  in  his  memory. 
His  young  and  impressionable  soul  was  ir- 
ritated and  wounded  by  his  isolation,  by  the 
complete  indifference  of  every  one  to  his 
lot,  althougli   he   was    exposed    to  danger. 


1^2  Scbastopol. 

"  I  shall  suffer,  I  shall  be  killed,  and  no 
one  will  mourn  me,"  he  said  to  himself. 
Where,  then,  was  the  life  of  the  hero  full  of 
the  energetic  ardor  and  of  the  sympathies 
he  had  so  often  dreamed  of?  The  shells 
shrieked  and  burst  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
Nikolai'eff  sighed  oftener  without  speaking. 
In  crossing  the  bridge  which  led  to  Kora- 
belna'ia  he  saw  something  two  steps  off 
plunge  whistling  into  the  gulf,  illuminating 
for  a  second  with  a  purple  light  the  violet- 
tinted  waves,  and  then  bound  off,  throwing 
a  shower  of  water  into  the  air. 

"Curse  it!  the  villain  is  still  alive,"  mur- 
mured Nikolaieff. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Volodia,  in  spite  of  him- 
self, and  surprised  at  the  sound  of  his  own 
voice,  so  shrill  and  harsh. 

They  now  met  wounded  men  carried  on 
stretchers,  carts  filled  with  gabions,  a  regi- 
ment, men  on  horseback.  One  of  the  latter, 
an  officer  followed  by  a  Cossack,  stopped  at 
the  sight  of  Volodia,  examined  his  face,  then, 
turning  away,  hit  his  horse  with  his  whip 
and  continued  on  his  way.  "  Alone,  alone ! 
whether  I  am  alive  or  not,  it  is  the  same 
to  all !"  said  the  youth  to  himself,  ready  to 


August,  i8§^.  lyj 

burst  into  tears.  Having  passed  a  great 
white  wall,  he  entered  a  street  bordered 
with  little,  quite  ruined  houses,  continually 
lighted  up  by  the  flash  of  the  shells.  A 
drunken  woman  in  rags,  followed  by  a  sail- 
or, came  out  of  a  small  door  and  stumbled 
against  him.  "  I  beg  pardon,  your  Excel- 
lency," she  murmured.  The  poor  boy's 
heart  was  more  and  more  oppressed,  while 
the  flashes  continually  lit  up  the  black  hori- 
zon and  the  shells  whistled  and  burst  about 
him.  Suddenly  Nikolaieff  sighed,  and  spoke 
w^ith  a  voice  which  seemed  to  Volodia  to 
express  a  restrained  terror. 

"It  was  well  worth  while  to  hurry  from 
home  to  come  here  !  We  went  on  and  went 
on,  and  what  was  the  use  of  hurrying .?" 

"  But,  thank  the  Lord !  my  brother  is 
cured,"  said  Volodia,  in  order  by  talking  to 
drive  away  the  horrible  feeling  which  had 
got  possession  of  him. 

"  Finely  cured,  when  he  is  in  a  bad  way 
altoQ:ether !  The  well  ones  would  find  them- 
selves  much  better  off  in  the  hospital  in 
times  like  these.  Do  we,  perchance,  take 
any  pleasure  in  being  here  .'*  Now  an  arm 
is  lost,  now  a  leg,  and  then —    And  yet  it  13 


i'/4  Sebastopol. 

better  here  in  the  city  than  in  the  bastion, 
Lord  God  !  On  the  way  a  man  has  to  say  all 
his  prayers.  Ah,  scoundrel !  it  just  hummed 
in  my  cars,"  he  added,  listening  to  the  sound 
of  a  piece  of  shell  which  had  passed  close 
to  him.  "  Now,"  continued  Nikolaieff,  "  I 
was  told  to  lead  your  Excellency,  and  I  know 
I  must  do  what  I  am  ordered  to,  but  our 
carriage  is  in  the  care  of  a  comrade,  and  the 
bundles  are  undone.  I  was  told  to  come, 
and  I  have  come.  But  if  any  one  of  the 
things  we  have  brought  is  lost,  it  is  I,  Niko- 
laieff,  who  answers  for  it." 

A  few  steps  farther  on  they  came  out  on 
an  open  space. 

"  Here  is  your  artillery,  your  Excellency," 
he  suddenly  said.  "Ask  the  sentinel,  he 
will  show  you." 

Volodia  went  forward  alone.  No  longer 
hearing  behind  him  Nikolaieff's  sighs,  he 
felt  himself  abandoned  for  good  and  all. 
The  feeling  of  this  desertion  in  the  presence 
of  danger,  of  death,  as  he  believed,  oppressed 
his  heart  with  the  glacial  weight  of  a  stone. 
Halting  in  the  middle  of  the  place,  he  looked 
aJl  about  him  to  see  if  he  was  observed,  and 
taking  his    head    in    both    hands,  he   mur- 


August,  185^.  I'/S 

mured,  with  a  voice  broken  by  terror, "  My 
God !  am  I  really  a  despicable  poltroon,  a 
coward  ?  I  who  have  lately  dreamed  of  dy- 
ing for  my  country,  for  my  Czar,  and  that 
with  joy !  Yes,  I  am  an  unfortunate  and 
despicable  being !"  he  cried,  in  profound  de- 
spair, and  quite  undeceived  about  himself. 
Having  finally  overcome  his  emotion,  he 
asked  the  sentinel  to  show  him  the  house 
of  the  commander  of  the  battery. 

XII. 

The  commander  of  the  battery  lived  in 
a  little  two -story  house.  It  was  entered 
through  a  court-yard.  In  one  of  the  win- 
dows, in  which  a  pane  was  missing  and  was 
replaced  by  a  sheet  of  paper,  shone  the  fee- 
ble lisht  of  a  candle.  The  servant,  seated 
in  the  door-way,  was  smoking  his  pipe.  Hav- 
ing announced  Volodia  to  his  master,  he 
showed  him  into  his  room.  There,  between 
two  windows,  beside  a  broken  mirror,  was 
seen  a  table  loaded  with  official  papers,  sev- 
eral chairs,  an  iron  bed  with  clean  linen  and 
a  rue:  before  it.  Near  the  door  stood  the 
sergeant-major,  a  fine  man,  with  a  splendid 
pair  of  mustaches,  his  sword  in  its  belt.    On 


1^6  SebastopoL 

his  coat  sparkled  a  cross  and  the  medal  of 
the  Hungary  campaign.  The  staff-officer, 
small  in  stature,  with  a  swollen  and  ban- 
daged cheek,  walked  up  and  down,  dressed 
in  a  frock-coat  of  fine  cloth  which  bore 
marks  of  long  wear.  He  was  decidedly  cor- 
pulent, and  appeared  about  forty  years  old. 
A  bald  spot  was  clearly  marked  on  the  top 
of  his  head ;  his  thick  mustache,  hanging 
straight  down,  hid  his  mouth ;  his  brown 
eyes  had  an  agreeable  expression ;  his 
hands  were  fine,  white,  a  little  fat ;  his  feet, 
very  much  turned  out,  were  put  down  with 
a  certain  assurance  and  a  certain  affectation 
which  proved  that  bashfulness  was  not  the 
weak  side  of  the  commander. 

"I  have  the  honor  to  present  myself.  I 
am  attached  to  the  Fifth  Light  Battery — 
Koseltzoff,  the  second-ensign,"  said  Volodia, 
who,  entering  the  room,  recited  in  one  breath 
this  lesson  learned  by  heart. 

The  commander  of  the  battery  replied  by 
a  somewhat  dry  salute,  and  without  offer- 
ing him  his  hand  begged  him  to  be  seated. 
Volodia  then  sat  down  timidly  near  the  writ- 
ing-table, and  in  his  distraction  getting  hold 
of  a  pair  of  scissors,  began  to  play  with  them 


August,  i8^^.  //7 

mechanically.  With  hands  behind  his  back 
and  with  bowed  head,  the  commander  of  the 
battery  continued  his  promenade  in  silence, 
casting  his  eyes  from  time  to  time  on  the 
fingers  which  continued  to  juggle  with  the 
scissors. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  stopping  at  last  in  front 
of  the  sergeant-major,  "from  to-morrow  on 
we  must  give  another  measure  of  oats  to 
the  caisson  horses ;  they  are  thin.  What 
do  you  think  of  it  T 

"Why  not.-^  It  can  be  done,  your  High 
Excellency ;  oats  are  now  cheaper,"  replied 
the  sergeant-major,  his  arms  stuck  to  the 
side  of  his  body  and  his  fingers  stirring — an 
habitual  movement  with  which  he  usually 
accompanied  his  conversation. 

"  Then  there  is  the  forage-master,  Frant- 
zone,  who  wrote  me  a  line  yesterday,  your 
High  Excellency.  He  said  we  must  buy 
axle  -  trees  without  fail ;  they  are  cheap. 
What  are  your  orders  T' 

"  Well,  they  must  be  bought ;  there  is 
money,"  answered  the  commander,  continu- 
ing to  walk.  "  Where  are  your  traps  T  he 
suddenly  said,  pausing  before  Volodia. 

Poor  Volodia,  pursued    by   the    thought 

12 


i'/8  Sebastopol. 

that  he  was  a  coward,  saw  in  each  look,  in 
each  word,  the  scorn  he  must  inspire;  and 
it  seemed  to  him  that  his  chief  had  ah-eady 
discovered  his  sad  secret,  and  tliat  he  was 
jeering  at  him.  Then  he  replied  in  confu- 
sion that  his  things  were  at  Grafskaia,  and 
that  his  brother  would  send  them  to  him 
the  following  day. 

"  Where  shall  we  put  up  the  ensign .?"  the 
lieutenant-colonel  asked  the  sergeant-major, 
without  listening  to  the  young  man's  an- 
swer. 

"  The  ensign  ?"  repeated  the  sergeant- 
major.  A  rapid  glance  thrown  on  Volodia, 
and  which  seemed  to  say, "  What  sort  of  an 
ensign  is  that .?"  finished  the  disconcerting 
of  the  latter.  "  Down  there,  your  Excel- 
lency, with  the  second-captain.  Since  the 
captain  is  in  the  bastion  his  bed  is  empty !" 

"  Will  that  do  for  you  while  you  are  wait- 
ing ?"  asked  the  commander  of  the  battery. 
"  You  must  be  tired,  I  think.  To-morrow 
it  can  be  more  conveniently  arranged  for 
you. 

Volodia  arose  and  saluted. 

"  Will  you  have  some  tea .?"  added  his  su- 
perior officer.    "  The  samovar  can  be  heated." 


A  71  gust,  185  s.  lyg 

Volodia,  who  had  already  reached  the 
door,  turned  around,  saluted  again,  and  went 
out. 

The  lieutenant-colonel's  servant  conduct- 
ed him  down-stairs,  and  showed  him  into  a 
bare  and  dirty  room  where  different  broken 
things  were  thrown  aside  as  rubbish,  and  in 
which,  in  a  corner,  a  man  in  a  red  shirt, 
whom  Volodia  took  for  a  soldier,  was  sleep- 
ing on  an  iron  bed  without  sheets  or  cov- 
erlid, wrapped  in  his  overcoat. 

"  Peter  Nikolaievitch  " — and  the  servant 
touched  the  sleeper's  shoulder  —  "get  up; 
the  ensign  is  going  to  sleep  here.  It's 
Viang,  our  yunker,"  he  added,  turning  to 
Volodia. 

"  Oh,  don't  disturb  yourself,  I  beg,"  cried 
the  latter,  seeing  the  yunker,  a  tall  and  ro- 
bust young  man,  with  a  fine  face,  but  one 
entirely  devoid  of  intelligence,  rise,  throw 
his  overcoat  over  his  shoulders,  and  drowsi- 
ly go  away,  murmuring,  "  That's  nothing;  I 
will  go  and  sleep  in  the  yard." 

XIII. 

Left  alone  with  his  thoughts,  Volodia  at 
first  felt  a  return  of  the  terror  caused  by  the 


i8o  Sebastopol. 

trouble  which  amtatcd  his  soul.  Countinor 
upon  sleep  to  be  able  to  cease  thinking  of 
his  surroundings  and  to  forget  himself,  he 
blew  out  his  candle  and  lay  down,  covering 
himself  all  up  with  his  overcoat,  even  his 
head,  for  he  had  kept  his  fear  of  darkness 
since  his  childhood.  But  suddenly  the  idea 
came  to  him  that  a  shell  mioht  fall  throuQ-h 
the  roof  and  kill  him.  He  listened.  The 
commander  of  the  battery  was  walking  up 
and  down  over  his  head. 

"  It  will  begin  by  killing  him  first,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "  then  me.  I  shall  not  die 
alone  !"  This  reflection  calmed  him,  and 
he  was  going  to  sleep  when  this  time  the 
thought  that  Sebastopol  might  be  taken 
that  very  night,  that  the  French  might 
burst  in  his  door,  and  that  he  had  no  weap- 
on to  defend  himself ,  completely  waked  him 
up  again.  He  rose  and  walked  the  room. 
The  fear  of  the  real  danger  had  stifled  the 
mysterious  terror  of  darkness.  He  hunted 
and  found  to  hand  only  a  saddle  and  a 
samovar.  "  I  am  a  coward,  a  poltroon,  a 
wretch,"  he  thought  again,  filled  with  disgust 
and  scorn  of  himself.  He  lay  down  and 
tried  to  stop  thinking ;    but   then   the   im- 


August,  185^.  181 

pressions  of  the  day  passed  again  through 
his  mind,  and  the  continual  sounds  which 
shook  the  panes  of  his  single  window  recall- 
ed to  him  the  danger  he  was  in.  Visions 
followed.  Now  he  saw  the  wounded  cover- 
ed with  blood  ;  now  bursting  shells,  pieces  of 
which  flew  into  his  room;  now  the  pretty  Sis- 
ter of  Charity  who  dressed  his  wounds  weep- 
ing over  his  agony,  or  his  mother,  who,  car- 
rying him  back  to  the  provincial  town,  pray- 
ing to  God  for  him  before  a  miraculous  im- 
age, shed  hot  tears.  Sleep  eluded  him ;  but 
suddenly  the  thought  of  an  all  -  powerful 
Deity  who  sees  everything  and  who  hears 
every  prayer  filashed  upon  him  distinct  and 
clear  in  the  midst  of  his  reveries.  He  fell 
upon  his  knees,  making  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
and  clasping  his  hands  as  he  had  been 
taught  in  his  childhood.  This  simple  gest- 
ure aroused  in  him  a  feeling  of  infinite,  long- 
forgotten  calm. 

"  If  I  am  to  die,  it  is  because  I  am  use- 
less! Then,  may  Thy  wdll  be  done, O  Lord! 
and  may  it  be  done  quickly.  But  if  the 
couraore  and  firmness  which  I  lack  are  nee- 
essary  to  me,  spare  me  the  shame  and  the 
dishonor,  which  I  cannot  endure,  and  teach 


i82  Sebastopol. 

me  what  I  must  do  to  accomplish  Thy 
will." 

His  weak,  childish,  and  terrified  soul  was 
fortified,  was  calmed  at  once,  and  entered 
new,  broad,  and  luminous  regions.  He 
thought  of  a  thousand  things ;  he  experi- 
enced a  thousand  sensations  in  the  short 
duration  of  this  feeling ;  then  he  quietly 
went  to  sleep,  heedless  of  the  dull  roar  of 
the  bombardment  and  of  the  shaking  win- 
dows. 

Lord,  Thou  alone  hast  heard.  Thou  alone 
knowest  the  simple  but  ardent  and  despairing 
prayers  of  ignorance,  the  confused  repent- 
ance asking  for  the  cure  of  the  body  and 
the  purification  of  the  soul  —  the  prayers 
which  rise  to  Thee  from  these  places  where 
death  resides ;  beginning  with  the  general, 
who  with  terror  feels  a  presentiment  of  ap- 
proaching death,  and  a  second  after  thinks 
only  of  wearing  a  cross  of  Saint  George  on 
his  neck,  and  ending  with  the  simple  soldier 
prostrate  on  the  bare  earth  of  the  Nicholas 
battery,  supplicating  Thee  to  grant  him  for 
his  sufferings  the  recompense  he  uncon- 
sciously has  a  glimpse  of. 


August^  i8^^.  i8j 

XIV. 

The  elder  Koseltzoff,  having  met  a  sol- 
dier of  his  reg:iment  in  the  street,  was  ac- 
companied  by  him  to  the  fifth  bastion. 

"  Keep  close  to  the  wall,  Excellency,"  the 
soldier  said. 

"  What  for  ?" 

"  It  is  dangerous,  Excellency.  He  is  al- 
ready passing  over  us,"  replied  the  soldier, 
listening  to  the  whistling  of  the  ball,  which 
struck  with  a  dry  sound  the  other  side  of 
the  hard  road.  But  Koseltzoff  continued 
on  in  the  middle  of  the  road  without  heed- 
ing this  advice.  There  were  the  same  streets, 
the  same  but  more  frequent  flashes,  the  same 
sounds  and  the  same  groans,  the  same  meet- 
ino-  of  wounded  men,  the  same  batteries, 
parapet,  and  trenches,  just  as  he  had  seen 
them  in  the  spring.  But  now  their  aspect 
was  more  dismal,  more  sombre  and  more 
martial,  so  to  speak.  A  greater  number  of 
houses  was  riddled,  and  there  were  no  more 
lights  in  the  windows  —  the  hospital  was 
the  only  exception  —  no  more  w^omen  in 
the  street;  and  the  character  of  the  accus- 
tomed, careless  life   formerly  imprinted  on 


184  Sebastopol. 

everything  was  effaced,  and  was  replaced  by 
the  element  of  anxious,  weary  expectation, 
and  of  redoubled  and  incessant  effort. 

He  came  at  last  to  the  farthermost  in- 
trenchment,  and  a  soldier  of  the  P reg- 
iment recognized  his  former  company  chief. 
There  was  the  third  battalion,  as  could  be 
guessed  in  the  darkness  by  the  constrained 
murmur  of  voices  and  the  clicks  of  the  mus- 
kets placed  against  the  wall,  which  the 
flash  of  the  discharges  lit  up  at  frequent  in- 
tervals. 

"  Where  is  the  commander  of  the  regi- 
ment V  asked  Koseltzoff. 

"  In  the  bomb-proof  with  the  marines, 
your  Excellency,"  replied  the  obliging  sol- 
dier. "  If  you  would  like  to  go  I  will  show 
you  the  way." 

Passing  from  one  trench  to  another,  he 
led  Koseltzoff  to  the  ditch,  where  a  sailor 
was  smoking  his  pipe.  Behind  him  was  a 
door,  through  the  cracks  of  which  shone  a 
light. 

"  Can  we  go  in  T' 

"  I  will  announce  you  ;"  and  the  sailor  en- 
tered the  bomb-proof,  where  two  voices  could 
be  heard. 


August,  185^.  18^ 

"  If  Prussia  continues  to  keep  neutral, 
then  Austria — "  said  one  of  them. 

"  What  is  Austria  good  for  when  the 
slavs — "  said  the  other. — "  Ah  yes  !  ask  him 
to  come  in,"  added  this  same  voice. 

Koseltzoff,  who  had  never  before  put  his 
foot  in  these  bomb-proof  quarters,  was  struck 
by  their  elegance.  A  polished  floor  took 
the  place  of  boards,  a  screen  hid  the  en- 
trance door.  In  a  corner  was  a  great  icon 
representing  the  holy  Virgin,  with  its  gilt 
frame  lighted  by  a  small  pink  glass  lamp. 
Two  beds  were  placed  along  the  wall,  on 
one  of  which  a  naval  officer  was  sleeping 
in  his  clothes,  on  the  other,  near  a  table  on 
which  two  open  bottles  of  wine  were  stand- 
ing, sat  the  new  regimental  chief  and  an 
aide-de-camp.  Koseltzoff,  who  was  not 
bashful,  and  who  felt  himself  in  nowise 
guilty,  either  towards  the  State  or  towards 
the  chief  of  the  regiment,  felt,  nevertheless, 
at  the  sight  of  the  latter — his  comrade  until 
very  recently — a  certain  apprehension. 

"  It  is  strange,"  he  thought,  seeing  him  rise 
to  listen  to  him.  "  He  has  commanded  the 
regiment  scarcely  six  weeks,  and  power  is  al- 
ready visible  in  his  bearing,  in  his  look,  in 


i86  Sebastopol. 

his  clothes.  Not  a  long  while  ago  this  same 
Batretcheff  amused  himself  in  our  quarters, 
wore  for  whole  weeks  the  same  dark  calico 
shirt,  and  ate  his  hash  and  his  sour  cream 
without  inviting  any  one  to  share  it,  and  now 
an  expression  full  of  hard  pride  can  be  read 
in  his  eyes,  which  say  to  me, 'Although  I 
am  your  comrade,  for  I  am  a  regimental 
chief  of  the  new  school,  you  may  be  sure  I 
know  perfectly  well  that  you  would  give  half 
your  life  to  be  in  my  place.' " 

"  You  have  been  treating  yourself  to  a 
rather  long  absence,"  said  the  colonel,  coldly, 
lookinor  at  him. 

"  I  have  been  ill,  colonel,  and  my  wound 
is  not  yet  altogether  healed." 

"  If  that's  so,  what  did  you  come  back 
for.?"  Koseltzoff's  corpulence  inspired  his 
chief  with  defiance.  "  Can  3'ou  do  your 
duty?" 

"  Certainly  I  can." 

"All  right.  Ensign  Zaitzeftwill  conduct 
you  to  the  ninth  company,  the  one  you  have 
already  commanded.  You  will  receive  the 
order  of  the  day.  Be  so  good  as  to  send 
me  the  regimental  aide-de-camp  as  you  go 
out,"  and  his  chief,  bowing  slightly,  gave  him 


August,  185^.  18  y 

to  understand  by  this  that  the  interview  was 
ended. 

On  his  way  out  Koseltzoff  muttered  in- 
distinct words  and  shrugged  his  shoulders 
several  times.  It  might  readily  be  believed 
that  he  felt  ill  at  ease,  or  that  he  was  irri- 
tated, not  exactly  against  his  regimental 
chief,  but  rather  against  himself  and  against 
all  his  surroundings. 

XV. 

Before  eoincf  to  find  his  officers  he  went 
to  look  up  his  company.  The'  parapets 
built  of 'gabions,  the  trenches,  the  cannon  in 
front  of  which  he  passed,  even  the  frag- 
ments and  the  shells  themselves  over  which 
he  stumbled,  and  which  the  flashes  of  the 
discharges  lighted  up  without  pause  or  re- 
laxation, everything  was  familiar  to  him,  and 
had  been  deeply  engraven  on  his  memory 
three  months  before,  during  the  fortnight 
he  had  lived  in  the  bastion.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  dismal  side  of  these  memories,  a  cer- 
tain inherent  charm  of  the  past  came  out 
of  them,  and  he  recognized  the  places  and 
things  with  an  unaffected  pleasure,  as  if  the 
two  weeks    had   been   full   of  only  agreea- 


i88  ScbastopoL 

ble  impressions.  His  company  was  placed 
along  the  covered  way  which  led  to  the 
sixth  bastion. 

Entering  the  shelter  open  on  one  side,  he 
found  so  many  soldiers  there  that  he  could 
scarcely  find  room  to  pass.  At  one  end 
burned  a  wretched  candle,  which  a  reclin- 
ing soldier  was  holding  over  a  book  that  his 
comrade  was  spelling  out.  Around  him,  in 
the  twilight  of  a  thick  and  heavy  atmos- 
phere, several  heads  could  be  seen  turned 
towards  the  reader,  listening  eagerly.  Ko- 
seltzoff  recognized  the  A  B  C  of  this  sen- 
tence: "  P-r-a-y-e-r  a-f-t-e-r  s-t-u-d-y.  I  give 
Thee  thanks,  my  Cre-a-tor." 

"  Snuff  the  candle !"  some  one  shouted. 
"  What  a  good  book  !"  said  the  reader,  pre- 
paring to  go  on.  But  at  the  sound  of  Ko- 
seltzoff's  voice  calling  the  sergeant-major 
it  was  silent.  The  soldiers  moved,  coughed, 
and  blew  their  noses,  as  always  happens 
after  an  enforced  silence.  The  sergeant- 
major  arose  from  the  middle  of  the  group, 
buttoning  his  uniform,  stepping  over  his 
comrades,  and  trampling  on  their  feet,  which 
for  lack  of  room  they  did  not  know  where 
to  stow,  approached  the  officer. 


August,  1 8^^.  i8g 

"  How  do  you  do,  my  boy?  Is  this  our 
company  ?" 

"  Health  to  your  Excellency !  We  con- 
gratulate you  on  your  return,"  replied  the 
sergeant-major,  gayly  and  good-natured- 
ly. "  You  are  cured,  Excellency  ?  God  be 
praised  for  that !  for  we  missed  you  a  good 
deal." 

Koseltzoff,  it  was  evident,  was  beloved  by 
his  company.  Voices  could  immediately  be 
heard  spreading  the  news  that  the  old  com- 
pany chief  had  come  back,  he  who  had  been 
wounded — Mikhail  Semenovitch  Koseltzoff. 
Several  soldiers,  the  drummer  amonor  oth- 
ers,  came  to  greet  him. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Obanetchouk .?"  said 
Koseltzoff.  "  Are  you  safe  and  sound } 
How  do  you  do,  children .?"  he  then  added, 
raising  his  voice. 

The  soldiers  replied  in  chorus, 

"  Health  to  your  Excellency  !" 

"  How  goes  it,  children  V 

"  Badly,  your  Excellency.  The  French 
have  the  upper  hands.  He  fires  from  be- 
hind the  intrenchments,  but  he  doesn't  show 
himself  outside." 

"  Now,  then,  who  knows }  perhaps  I  shall 


igo  Sebastopol. 

have  the  chance  of  seeing  him  come  out  of 
the  intrenchments,  children.  It  won't  be  the 
first  time  we  have  fought  him  together." 

"We  are  ready  to  do  our  best, your  Excel- 
lency," said  several  voices  at  the  same  time. 

"  He  is  very  bold,  then  ?" 

"  Terribly  bold,"  replied  the  drummer  in 
a  low  tone,  but  so  as  to  be  heard,  and  speak- 
ing to  another  soldier,  as  if  to  justify  his 
chief  for  having  made  use  of  the  expression, 
and  to  persuade  his  comrade  that  there  was 
nothing  exaggerated  nor  untrue  in  it. 

Koseltzoff  left  the  soldiers  in  order  to 
join  the  officers  in  the  barracks. 

XVI. 

The  great  room  of  the  barracks  was  filled 
with  people — a  crowd  of  naval,  artillery,  and 
infantry  officers.  Some  were  sleeping,  oth- 
ers were  talking,  seated  on  a  caisson  or  on 
the  carriage  of  a  siege-gun.  The  largest 
group  of  the  three,  seated  on  their  cloaks 
spread  on  the  ground,  w^ere  drinking  porter 
and  playing  cards. 

"Ah!  Koseltzoff's  come  back!  Bravo! 
And  your  wound  T  said  divers  voices  from 
different  sides. 


Aligns t,  i8^^.  igi 

Here  also  he  was  liked,  and  they  were  re- 
joiced at  his  return. 

After  having  shaken  hands  with  his  ac- 
quaintances, Koseltzoff  joined  the  gay  group 
of  card-players.  One  of  them,  thin,  w^ith  a 
long  nose,  and  a  large  mustache  which  en- 
croached on  his  cheeks,  cut  the  cards  with 
his  white,  slender  fingers  on  one  of  which 
was  a  great  seal  ring.  He  seemed  disturb- 
ed, and  dealt  with  an  affected  carelessness. 
On  his  right,  lying  half  raised  on  his  elbow, 
a  gray-haired  major  staked  and  paid  a  half- 
ruble  every  time  with  exaggerated  calmness. 
On  his  left,  crouching  on  his  heels,  an  offi- 
cer with  a  red  and  shining  face  joked  and 
smiled  with  an  effort,  and  when  his  card  was 
laid  down,  one  of  his  hands  moved  in  the 
empty  pocket  of  his  trousers  He  played  a 
heavy  game,  but  without  any  money — a  fact 
which  visibly  irritated  the  dark  officer  with 
the  handsome  face.  Another  officer,  pale, 
thin,  and  bald,  with  an  enormous  nose  and 
a  large  mouth,  walking  about  the  room  with 
a  bundle  of  bank-notes  in  his  hand,  counted 
down  the  money  on  the  bank  and  won  every 
time. 

Koseltzoff  drank  a  small  glass  of  brandy 
and  sat  down  beside  the  players. 


ig2  Scbastopol. 

"  Come,  Mikhail  Semenovitch,  come  ;  put 
up  your  stake !"  said  the  officer  who  was 
cutting  the  cards  ;  "  Til  bet  you  have  brought 
back  a  lot  of  money." 

"  Where  could  I  have  got  it  ?  On  the 
contrary,  I  spent  my  last  penny  in  town !" 

"  Really !  You  must  have  fleeced  some 
one  at  Sympheropol,  I'm  sure !" 

"  What  an  idea  !"  replied  Koseltzoff,  not 
wanting  his  words  to  be  believed,  and  un- 
buttoning his  uniform,  to  be  more  comfort- 
able, he  took  a  few  old  cards, 

"  I  have  nothing  to  risk,  but,  devil  take 
me !  who  can  foresee  luck  ?  A  gnat  can 
sometimes  accomplish  wonders !  Let's  go 
on  drinking  to  keep  our  courage  up." 

Shortly  after  he  swallowed  a  second  small 
glass  of  brandy,  a  little  porter  into  the  bar- 
gain, and  lost  his  last  three  rubles,  while  a 
hundred  and  fifty  were  charged  to  the  ac- 
count of  the  little  officer  with  the  sweat- 
moistened  face. 

"  Have  the  kindness  to  send  me  the  mon- 
ey," said  the  banker,  interrupting  the  deal 
to  look  at  him. 

"  Allow  me  to  put  off  sending  it  until  to- 
morrow," replied  the  one  addressed,  rising. 


August,  i8s5.  193 

His  hand  was  nervously  moving  in  his  emp- 
ty pocket. 

"  Hum  !"  said  the  banker,  spitefully  throw- 
ing the  last  cards  of  the  pack  right  and  left. 
"  We  can't  play  in  this  way,"  he  rejoined ; 
"  I  will  stop  the  game.  It  can't  be  done, 
Zakhar  Ivanovitch.  We  are  playing  cash 
down,  and  not  for  credit." 

"  Do  you  distrust  me  ?  That  would  be 
strange  indeed  !" 

"  From  whom  have  I  to  get  eight  rubles  V 
the  major  who  had  just  won  asked  at  this 
moment.  "  I  have  paid  out  more  than 
twenty,  and  when  I  win  I  get  nothing," 

"  How  do  you  think  I  can  pay  you  when 
there  is  no  money  on  the  table  V 

"  That's  nothing  to  me !"  cried  the  major, 
rising.  "  I  am  playing  with  you,  and  not 
with  this  gentleman !" 

"  As  long  as  I  tell  you,"  said  the  perspir- 
ing officer — "  as  long  as  I  tell  you  I  will  pay 
you  to-morrow,  how  do  you  dare  insult  me  V 

"  I'll  say  what  I  like.  This  is  no  way  of 
doing  !"  cried  the  major,  excited. 

"  Come,  be  quiet,   Fedor    Fedorovitch  !" 
shouted   several   players    at   once,   turning 
around. 
13 


ig^  Sebastopol. 

Let  us  drop  the  curtain  on  this  scene. 
To-morrow,  perhaps  to-day,  each  of  these 
men  will  go  to  meet  death  gayly,  proudly, 
and  will  die  calmly  and  firmly.  The  only 
consolation  of  a  life  the  conditions  of  which 
freeze  with  horror  the  coldest  imagination, 
of  a  life  which  has  nothing  human  in  it,  to 
which  all  hope  is  interdicted,  is  forgetful- 
ness,  annihilation  of  the  consciousness  of 
the  reahty.  In  the  soul  of  every  man  lies 
dormant  the  noble  spark  which  at  the  prop- 
er time  will  make  a  hero  of  him ;  but  this 
spark  grows  tired  of  shining  always.  Nev- 
ertheless, when  the  fatal  moment  comes,  it 
will  burst  into  a  flame  which  will  illumine 
grand  deeds. 

XVII. 

The  next  day  the  bombardment  contin- 
ued with  the  same  violence.  About  eleven 
o'clock  in  the  forenoon  Volodia  Koseltzoff 
joined  the  officers  of  his  battery.  He  be- 
came accustomed  to  these  new  faces,  asked 
them  questions,  and,  in  his  turn,  shared  his 
impressions  with  them.  The  modest  but 
slightly  pedantic  conversation  of  the  artillery- 
men pleased  him  and  inspired  his  respect. 


August,  1S55.  ig^ 

On  the  other  hand,  his  own  sympathetic 
apjDearance,  his  timid  manner,  and  his  sim- 
pHcity  predisposed  these  gentlemen  in  his 
favor.  The  oldest  officer  of  the  battery,  a 
short,  red-haired  captain  with  a  foretop,  and 
with  well -smoothed  locks  on  his  temples, 
brought  up  in  the  old  traditions  of  artillery, 
amiable  with  ladies,  and  posing  for  a  savant, 
asked  him  questions  about  his  acquaintance 
with  this  science  or  that,  about  the  new  in- 
ventions, joked  in  an  affectionate  way  about 
his  youth  and  his  handsome  face,  and  treated 
him  like  a  son,  all  of  which  charmed  Volo- 
dia.  Sub-lieutenant  Dedenko,  a  young  offi- 
cer with  an  accent  of  Little  Russia,  with 
shaggy  hair  and  a  torn  overcoat,  pleased  him 
also,  in  spite  of  his  loud  voice,  his  frequent 
quarrels,  and  his  brusque  movements,  for 
under  this  rude  exterior  Volodia  saw  a 
brave  and  worthy  man.  Dedenko  eagerly 
offered  his  services  to  Volodia,  and  tried  to 
prove  to  him  that  the  cannon  at  Sebastopol 
had  not  been  placed  according  to  rule.  On 
the  other  hand,  Lieutenant  Tchernovitzky, 
with  high-arched  eyebrows,  who  wore  a  well- 
cared -for  but  worn  and  mended  overcoat, 
and  a  gold  chain  on  a  satin  waistcoat,  did 


ig6  Sebastopol. 

not  inspire  him  with  any  sympathy,  al- 
though superior  to  the  others  in  poHteness. 
He  continually  asked  Volodia  details  about 
the  emperor,  the  minister  of  war,  related 
with  factitious  enthusiasm  the  heroic  ex- 
ploits accomplished  at  Sebastopol,  expressed 
his  regrets  at  the  small  number  of  true  pa- 
triots, made  a  show  of  a  great  deal  of  knowl- 
edge, of  wit,  of  exceedingly  noble  sentiments, 
but  in  spite  of  all  that,  and  without  being 
able  to  tell  why,  all  these  discourses  sound- 
ed false  in  his  ears,  and  he  even  noticed 
that  the  officers  in  general  avoided  speak- 
ing to  Tchernovitzky.  The  yunker,  Viang, 
whom  he  had  waked  up  the  evening  before, 
sat  modestly  in  a  corner,  kept  silent,  laughed 
sometimes  at  a  joke,  always  ready  to  recall 
what  had  been  forgotten,  presented  to  the 
officers  in  turn  the  small  glass  of  brandy, 
and  rolled  cigarettes  for  all.  Charmed  by 
the  simple  and  polite  manners  of  Volodia, 
who  did  not  treat  him  like  a  boy,  and  by 
his  agreeable  appearance,  his  great,  fine 
eyes  never  left  the  face  of  the  new-comer. 
Urged  by  a  feeling  of  great  admiration,  he 
divined  and  forestalled  all  his  wishes,  a  fact 
which  the  officers  immediately  noticed,  and 


August,  1 8^^.  igy 

which  furnished  the  subject  of  unsparing 
jokes. 

A  little  before  dinner  second  -  captain 
Kraut,  relieved  from  duty  on  the  bastion, 
joined  the  little  company.  A  blond,  fine- 
looking  fellow,  of  a  lively  turn  of  mind,  proud 
possessor  of  a  pair  of  red  mustaches,  and  side- 
whiskers  of  the  same  color,  he  spoke  the  lan- 
guage to  perfection,  but  too  correctly  and 
too  elegantly  for  a  pure-blooded  Russian. 
Quite  as  irreproachable  in  duty  as  in  his  pri- 
vate life,  perfection  was  his  failing.  A  perfect 
comrade,  to  be  counted  on  beyond  proof  in 
all  affairs  of  interest,  he  lacked  something 
as  a  man,  just  because  everything  in  him 
was  an  accomplishment.  In  striking  con- 
trast with  the  ideal  Germans  of  Germany, 
he  was,  after  the  example  of  the  Russian 
Germans,  in  the  highest  degree  practical. 

"  Here  he  is!  here's  our  hero!"  shouted  the 
captain  at  the  moment  Kraut  came  in,  gestic- 
ulating and  clanking  his  spurs.  "  What'll 
you  have,  Frederic  Christianovitch — tea  or 
brandy .?" 

"  I  am  having  some  tea  made,  but  I  won't 
refuse  brandy  while  I  am  waiting,  for  my 
soul's  consolation  !      Happy  to  make  your 


igS  Sebastopol. 

acquaintance !  Please  get  fond  of  us,  and 
be  well-disposed  towards  us,"  he  said  to  Vo- 
lodia,  who  had  arisen  to  salute  him.  "  Sec- 
ond-captain Kraut !  The  artificer  told  me 
you  came  last  evening." 

"  Allow  me  to  thank  you  for  your  bed, 
which  I  profited  by  last  night." 

"  Did  you  at  least  sleep  comfortably  there } 
Because  one  of  the  legs  is  gone,  and  no  one 
can  repair  it  during  the  siege.  You  have  to 
keep  wedging  it  up." 

"  So  then  you  got  out  of  it  safely  ?"  De- 
denko  asked  him. 

"  Yes,  thank  God !  but  Skvortzoff  was 
hit.  We  had  to  repair  one  of  the  carriages  ; 
the  side  of  it  was  smashed  to  pieces." 

He  suddenly  arose  and  walked  up  and 
down.  It  could  be  seen  that  he  felt  the 
agreeable  sensation  of  a  man  who  has 
just  come  safe  and  sound  out  of  great 
danger. 

"  Now,  Dmitri  Gavrilovitch,"  he  said,  tap- 
ping the  captain's  knee  in  a  friendly  man- 
ner, "  how  are  you,  brother  ?  What  has  be- 
come of  your  presentation  for  advancement } 
Has  it  finally  been  settled  ?" 

"  No ;  nothing  has  come  of  it." 


Au^gust,  i8^^.  igg 

"  And  nothing  will  come  of  it,"  said  De- 
denko ;  "  I've  proved  it  to  you  already." 

"  Why  will  nothing  come  of  it  ?" 

"  Because  your  statement  is  badly  made." 

"  Ah,  what  a  violent  wrangler !"  said  Kraut, 
gayly.  "A  truly  obstinate  Little  Russian. 
All  right ;  you  will  see  that  they  will  make 
you  lieutenant  to  pay  for  your  mortification." 

"  No,  they  won't  do  anything." 

"  Viang,"  added  Kraut,  speaking  to  the 
yunker,  "  fill  my  pipe  and  bring  it  to  me, 
please." 

Kraut's  presence  had  waked  them  all  up. 
Chatting  with  each  one,  he  gave  the  details 
of  the  bombardment,  and  asked  questions 
about  what  had  taken  place  during  his  ab- 
sence. 

XVIII. 

"  Now,  then,  are  you  settled  V  Kraut  asked 
of  Volodia.  "  But,  pardon  me,  what  is  your 
name — both  your  names  }  It's  our  custom 
in  the  artillery.     Have  you  a  saddle-horse  .?" 

"  No,"  answered  Volodia,  "  and  I  am  much 
troubled  about  it.  I  have  spoken  to  the 
captain.  I  shall  have  neither  horse  nor 
money  until  I  get  my  forage-money  and  my 


200  Scbastopol. 

travelling  expenses.  I  would  like  to  ask  the 
commander  of  the  battery  to  lend  me  his 
horse,  but  I  am  afraid  he  will  refuse." 

"  You  would  like  to  ask  this  of  Apollo 
Serguei'tch  T  said  Kraut,  looking  at  the  cap- 
tain, while  he  made  a  sound  with  his  lips 
which  expressed  doubt. 

"  Well,"  said  the  latter,  "  if  he  refuses, 
there  is  no  great  harm  done.  To  tell  the 
truth,  there  is  seldom  need  of  a  horse  here. 
I  will  undertake  to  ask  him  to-day  even." 

"  You  don't  know  him,"  said  Dedenko. 
"  He  would  refuse  anything  else,  but  he 
wouldn't  refuse  his  horse  to  this  gentleman. 
Would  you  like  to  bet  on  it  ?" 

*'  Oh,  I  know  you  are  ripe  for  contradic- 
tion, you — " 

"  I  contradict  when  I  know  a  thinor  \  He 
isn't  generous  usually,  but  he  will  lend  his 
horse,  because  he  has  no  interest  in  refus- 
ing  It. 

"  How  no  interest  ?  When  oats  cost  eight 
rubles  here  it  is  evidently  in  his  interest. 
He  will  have  one  horse  the  less  to  keep." 

"  Vladimir  Semenovitch  !"  cried  Viang, 
coming  back  with  Kraut's  pipe.  "Ask  for 
the  spotted  one ;  it  is  a  charming  horse." 


August,   iSj^.  201 

"That's  the  one  you  fell  into  the  ditch 
with,  eh,  Viang  ?"  observed  the  second-cap- 
tain. 

"  But  you  are  mistaken  in  saying  that 
oats  are  eight  rubles,"  maintained  Dedenko, 
in  the  mean  time,  continuing  the  discus- 
sion. "According  to  the  latest  news  they 
are  ten-fifty.  It  is  evident  that  there  is  no 
profit  in — " 

"  You  would  like  to  leave  him  nothing, 
then  ?  If  you  were  in  his  place  you  would 
not  lend  your  horse  to  go  into  town  either. 
When  I  am  commander  of  the  battery  my 
horses,  brother,  will  have  four  full  measures 
to  eat  every  day  !  I  sha'n't  think  of  making 
an  income,  rest  assured  !" 

"  He  who  lives  will  see,"  replied  the  sec- 
ond-captain. "  You  will  do  the  same  when 
you  have  a  battery,  and  he  also,"  pointing 
to  Volodia. 

"  Why  do  you  suppose,  Frederic  Chris- 
tianovitch,  that  this  gentleman  would  also 
like  to  reserve  for  himself  some  small  prof- 
it ?  If  he  has  a  certain  amount  of  money, 
what  will  he  do  it  for  ?"  Tchernovitzky  ask- 
ed in  his  turn. 

"  No — I — excuse  me,  captain,"  said  Volo- 


202  Sebastopol. 

dia,  blushing  up  to  his  ears.  "  That  would 
be  dishonest  in  my  eyes." 

"  Oh  !  oh !  what  milk  porridge  !"  Kraut 
said  to  him. 

"  This  is  another  question,  captain,  but 
it  seems  to  me  that  I  couldn't  take  mon- 
ey for  myself  which  doesn't  belong  to 
me." 

"  And  I  will  tell  you  something  else,"  said 
the  second-captain,  in  a  more  serious  tone. 
"  You  must  learn  that,  being  battery  com- 
mander, there  is -every  advantage  in  manag- 
ing affairs  well.  You  must  know  that  the 
soldier's  food  doesn't  concern  him.  It  has 
always  been  that  way  with  us  in  the  artil- 
lery. If  you  don't  succeed  in  making  both 
ends  meet,  you  will  have  nothing  left.  Let 
us  count  up  your  expenses.  You  have  first 
the  forage  " — and  the  captain  bent  one  fin- 
ger ;  "  next  the  medicine  " — he  bent  a  sec- 
ond one ;  "  then  the  administration  —  that 
makes  three;  then  the  draft -horses,  which 
certainly  cost  fiv^e  hundred  rubles  —  that 
makes  four;  then  the  refitting  of  the  sol- 
diers' collars  ;  then  the  charcoal,  which  is 
used  in  great  quantities,  and  at  last  the  ta- 
ble of  your  officers ;  lastly,  as  chief  of  the 


August,  1 8^^.  20 J 

battery  you  must  live  comfortably,  and  you 
need  a  carriage,  a  cloak,  etc." 

"And  the  principal  thing  is  this, Vladimir 
Semenovitch,"  said  the  captain,  who  had 
been  silent  up  to  this  moment.  "  Look  at 
a  man  like  me,  for  example,  who  has  served 
twenty  years,  receiving  at  first  two,  then 
three  hundred  rubles  pay.  Well,  then,  why 
shouldn't  the  Government  reward  him  for 
his  years  of  service  by  giving  him  a  morsel 
of  bread  for  his  old  days." 

"  It  can't  be  discussed,"  rejoined  the  sec- 
ond-captain ;  "  so  don't  be  in  a  hurry  to  judge. 
Serve  a  little  while  and  you  will  see." 

Volodia,  quite  ashamed  of  the  remark 
which  he  had  thrown  out  without  stopping 
to  reflect,  murmured  a  few  words,  and  lis- 
tened in  silence  how  Dedenko  set  about  de- 
fending the  opposite  thesis.  The  discussion 
was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  the  colo- 
nel's orderly  announcing  that  dinner  was 
ready. 

"  You  ought  to  tell  Apollo  Serguei'tch  to 
give  us  wine  to-day,"  said  Captain  Tcherno- 
vitzky,  buttoning  his  coat.  "  Devil  take  his 
avarice!  He  will  be  shot,  and  no  one  will 
get  any." 


20^  Sebastopol. 

"  Tell  him  yourself." 

"  Oh  no,  you  are  my  elder;  the  hierarchy 
before  everything !" 

XIX. 

A  table,  covered  with  a  stained  table- 
cloth, was  placed  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
in  which  Volodia  had  been  received  by  the 
colonel  the  evening  before.  The  latter  gave 
him  his  hand,  and  asked  him  questions  about 
Petersburg  and  about  his  journey. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,  please  come  up  to  the 
brandy.  The  ensigns  don't  drink,"  he  add- 
ed, with  a  smile. 

The  commander  of  the  battery  did  not 
seem  as  stern  to-day  as  the  day  before ;  he 
had  rather  the  air  of  a  kind  and  hospi- 
table host  than  that  of  a  comrade  amone 
his  of^cers.  In  spite  of  that,  all,  from  the 
old  captain  to  Ensign  Dedenko,  evinced  re- 
spect for  him  which  betrayed  itself  in  the 
timid  politeness  with  which  they  spoke  to 
him  and  came  up  in  line  to  drink  their  little 
glass  of  brandy. 

The  dinner  consisted  of  cabbage  -  soup, 
served  in  a  great  tureen  in  which  swam 
lumps    of   meat    with   fat    attached,  laurel 


August,  I'^SS'  ^^5 

leaves,  and  a  good  deal  of  pepper,  Polish 
zrasi  with  mustard,  koldouni  with  slightly 
rancid  butter;  no  napkins  ;  the  spoons  were 
of  pewter  and  of  wood,  the  glasses  were  two 
in  number.  On  the  table  was  a  single  water 
decanter  with  broken  neck.  The  conversa- 
tion did  not  flag.  They  first  spoke  of  the 
battle  of  Inkerman,  in  w^hich  the  battery 
took  a  part.  Each  related  his  impressions, 
his  opinions  on  the  causes  of  the  failure, 
keeping  silent  as  soon  as  the  battery  com- 
mander spoke.  Then  they  complained  of 
the  lack  of  cannon  of  a  certain  calibre;  they 
talked  of  certain  other  improvements,  which 
gave  Volodia  an  opportunity  of  showing  his 
knowledge.  The  curious  part  was  that  the 
talk  did  not  even  touch  upon  the  frightful 
situation  of  Sebastopol,  which  seemed  to 
mean  that  each  one,  on  his  part,  thought 
too  much  about  it  to  speak  of  it. 

Volodia,  very  much  astonished,  and  even 
vexed,  that  there  was  no  question  of  the 
duties  of  his  service,  said  to  himself  that  he 
seemed  to  have  come  to  Sebastopol  only  in 
order  to  o^ive  the  details  about  the  new  can- 
non  and  to  dine  with  the  battery  commander. 

During  the  repast  a  shell  burst  very  near 


2o6  Sebastopol. 

the  house.  The  floor  and  the  wall  were 
shaken  by  it  as  by  an  earthquake,  and  pow- 
der-smoke spread  over  the  window  outside. 

"  You  certainly  didn't  see  tliat  at  Peters- 
buro;,  but  here  we  often  have  these  surprises. 
Go,  Viang,"  added  the  commander,  "  and  see 
where  the  shell  burst." 

Viang  went  to  look,  and  announced  that 
it  had  burst  in  the  yard.  After  that  they 
did  not  speak  of  it  again. 

A  little  before  the  end  of  the  dinner  one 
of  the  military  clerks  came  in  to  give  to  his 
chief  three  sealed  envelopes.  "  This  one  is 
very  urgent.  A  Cossack  has  just  brought 
it  from  the  commander  of  the  artillery,"  he 
said.  The  ofhcers  watched  the  practised 
fingers  of  their  superior  with  anxious  impa- 
tience while  he  broke  the  seal  of  the  enve- 
lope, which  bore  the  words  "  in  haste,"  and 
drew  a  paper  from  it. 

"  What  can  that  be  T  each  one  thought. 
"  Can  it  be  the  order  to  leave  Sebastopol  for 
a  rest,  or  the  order  to  bring  out  the  whole 
battery  upon  the  bastion  ?" 

"  Once  more  !"  cried  the  commander,  an- 
grily, throwing  the  sheet  of  paper  on  the 
table. 


August,  i8^^.  2oy 

"  What  is  it,  Apollo  Serguei'tch  ?"  asked 
the  oldest  of  the  officers. 

"  They  want  an  officer  and  men  for  a  mor- 
tar battery.  I  have  only  four  officers,  and 
my  men  are  not  up  to  the  full  number,"  he 
growled,  "  and  now  they  ask  for  some  of 
them.  However,  some  one  must  go,  gen- 
tlemen," he  continued,  after  a  moment ; 
"  they  must  be  there  at  seven  o'clock.  Send 
me  the  sergeant-major.  Now,  gentlemen, 
who  will  go  }    Decide  it  among  yourselves." 

"  But  here  is  this  gentleman  who  hasn't 
yet  served,"  said  Tchernovitzky,  pointing  to 
Volodia. 

"  Yes ;  I  wouldn't  ask  for  anything  bet- 
ter," said  Volodia,  feeling  a  cold  sweat  moist- 
en his  neck  and  his  backbone. 

"  No — why  not  ?"  interrupted  the  captain. 
"  No  one  ought  to  refuse  ;  but  it  is  useless 
to  ask  him  to  go ;  and  since  Apollo  Ser- 
guei'tch leaves  us  free,  we  will  draw  lots,  as 
we  did  the  other  time." 

All  consented  to  this.  Kraut  carefully 
cut  several  little  paper  squares,  rolled  them 
up,  and  threw  them  into  a  cap.  The  cap- 
tain cracked  a  few  jokes  and  profited  by 
this  occasion   to  ask  the  colonel  for  wine. 


2o8  Sebastopol. 

"to  give  us  courage," he  added.  Dedenko 
had  a  depressed  air,  Volodia  smiled,  Tcher- 
novitzky  declared  that  he  would  be  chosen 
by  the  lot.  As  to  Kraut,  he  was  perfectly 
calm. 

They  offered  Volodia  the  first  chance. 
He  took  one  of  the  papers,  the  longest,  but 
immediately  changed  it  for  another,  shorter 
and  smaller,  and  unrolling  it,  read  the  word 
"  Go." 

"  It  is  I,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh. 

"  All  right.  May  God  protect  you  !  It 
will  be  your  baptism  of  fire,"  said  the  com- 
mander, looking  with  a  pleasant  smile  at  the 
disturbed  face  of  the  ensign.  "  But  get 
ready  quickly,  and  in  order  that  it  may  be 
pleasanter,  Viang  will  go  with  you  in  the 
place  of  the  artificer. 

XX. 

Viang,  delighted  with  his  mission,  ran 
away  to  dress,  and  came  back  at  once  to 
assist  Volodia  to  make  up  his  bundles,  ad- 
vising him  to  take  his  bed,  his  fur  cloak,  an 
old  number  of  the  "Annals  of  the  Country," 
a  coffee-pot  with  an  alcohol  lamp,  and  other 
useless  articles.     The  captain,  in  his  turn, 


August,  i8^^.  2og 

advised  Volodia  to  read  in  the  "  Manual  for 
the  use  of  Artillery  Officers  "  the  passage 
relating  to  firing  mortars,  and  to  copy  it  at 
once !  Volodia  set  himself  to  work  at  it 
immediately,  happy  and  surprised  to  feel 
that  the  dread  of  danger,  especially  the 
fear  of  passing  for  a  coward,  was  less  strong 
than  on  the  evening  before.  His  impres- 
sions of  the  day  and  his  occupation  had  part- 
ly contributed  to  diminish  the  violence  of 
this ;  and  then  it  is  well  known  that  an 
acute  sensation  cannot  last  long  without 
weakening.  In  a  word,  his  fear  was  being 
cured.  At  seven  in  the  evening,  at  the  mo- 
ment the  sun  was  setting  behind  the  Nicho- 
las barracks,  the  sergeant-major  came  to 
tell  him  that  the  men  were  ready,  and  were 
waiting  for  him, 

"  I  have  given  the  list  to  Viang,  your  Ex- 
cellency ;  you  can  ask  him  for  it,"  he  said. 

"  Must  I  make  a  little  speech  to  them?" 
thought  Volodia,  on  his  way,  accompanied 
by  the  yunker,  to  join  the  twenty  artillery- 
men who,  swords  by  their  sides,  were  wait- 
ing for  him  outside  —  "or  must  I  simply 
say  to  them, 'How  do  you  do,  children?'  or, 
indeed,  say  nothing  at  all  ?     Why  not  say 


2IO  Sebastopol. 

'  How  do  you  do,  children  ?'  I  think  I  ought 
to ;"  and  with  his  full  and  sonorous  voice  he 
cried  boldly,  "  How  do  you  do,  children  ?" 
The  soldiers  replied  cheerfully  to  his  salu- 
tation ;  his  young  and  fresh  voice  sounded 
agreeably  in  their  ears.  He  put  himself  at 
their  head,  and  although  his  heart  was  beat- 
ing as  if  he  had  just  run  several  furlongs, 
his  walk  was  light  and  his  face  was  smiling. 
When  they  got  near  the  Malakoff  mamelon, 
he  noticed,  while  climbing  up  it,  that  Viang, 
who  did  not  leave  his  heels,  and  who  had 
seemed  so  courageous  down  below  in  their 
quarters,  stooped  and  ducked  his  head  as 
if  the  bullets  and  shells  which  were  whist- 
ling without  cessation  were  coming  straight 
towards  him.  Several  soldiers  did  the  same, 
and  the  majority  of  the  faces  expressed,  if 
not  fear,  at  least  disquiet.  This  circum- 
stance reassured  him  and  revived  his  cour- 


age. 


"  Here  I  am,  then,  I  also,  on  the  Mala- 
ko£f  mamelon.  I  imagined  it  a  thousand 
times  more  terrible,  and  I  am  walking,  I  am 
advancing,  without  saluting  the  bullets  !  I 
am  less  afraid  than  the  others,  and  I  am 
not  a  coward,  then,"  he  said  to  himself  joy- 


August,  i8^^.  211 

fully,  with  the  enthusiasm  of  satisfied  self- 
love. 

This  feeling  was,  however,  shaken  by  the 
spectacle  that  presented  itself  to  his  eyes. 
When  he  reached  in  the  twilight  the  Kor- 
niloff  battery,  four  sailors,  some  holding  by 
the  legs,  others  by  the  arms,  the  bloody 
corpse  of  a  man  with  bare  feet  and  no  coat, 
were  in  the  act  of  throwing  him  over  the 
parapet.  (The  second  day  of  the  bombard- 
ment they  threw  the  dead  into  the  ditch,  be- 
cause they  had  no  time  to  carry  them  off.) 
Volodia,  stupefied,  saw  the  corpse  strike  the 
upper  part  of  the  rampart,  and  slide  from 
there  into  the  ditch.  Fortunately  for  him, 
he  met  at  this  very  moment  the  commander 
of  the  bastion,  who  gave  him  a  guide  to  lead 
him  to  the  battery  and  into  the  bomb-proof 
quarters  of  the  men.  We  will  not  relate 
how  often  our  hero  was  exposed  to  danger 
during  that  night.  We  will  say  nothing  of 
how  he  was  undeceived  when  he  noticed 
that  instead  of  findino^  them  firins:  here  ac- 
cording  to  the  precise  rules  such  as  they 
practise  at  Petersburg  on  the  plain  of  Vol- 
kovo,  he  saw  himself  in  front  of  two  broken 
mortars,   one    with   its    muzzle   bruised   by 


212  Sebastopol. 

a  shell,  the  other  still  upright  on  the  pieces 
of  a  destroyed  platform.  We  will  not  tell 
how  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  get  the 
soldiers  in  order  to  repair  it  before  daylight, 
how  he  found  no  charge  of  the  calibre  indi- 
cated in  the  "  Manual,"  nor  describe  his  feel- 
ings at  seeing  two  of  his  soldiers  fall,  hit 
before  his  eyes,  nor  how  he  himself,  even, 
escaped  death  twenty  times  by  a  hair's- 
breadth.  Happily  for  him,  the  captain  of 
the  mortar,  who  had  been  given  him  for  an 
assistant,  a  tall  sailor  attached  to  these  mor- 
tars since  the  beginning  of  the  siege,  assured 
him  that  they  could  make  use  of  them  still, 
and  promised  him  while  he  was  walking  on 
the  bastion,  lantern  in  hand,  as  calmly  as 
if  he  were  in  his  kitchen-garden,  to  put  them 
in  good  condition  before  morning. 

The  bomb-proof  reduct  into  which  his 
guide  conducted  him  was  only  a  great,  long 
cavern  dug  in  the  rocky  earth,  two  fathoms 
deep,  protected  by  oaken  timbers  eighteen 
inches  thick.  There  he  established  himself 
with  his  soldiers. 

As  soon  as  Viang  noticed  the  little  low 
door  which  led  into  it,  he  threw  himself  in 
the  first  with  such  haste  that  he  nearly  fell 


August,  i8 ^^,  21 J 

on  the  stone -paved  floor,  cowered  down  in 
a  corner,  and  did  not  care  to  come  out  of 
it.  The  soldiers  placed  themselves  on  the 
ground  along  the  wall.  Some  of  them  light- 
ed their  pipes,  and  Volodia  arranged  his  bed 
in  a  corner,  stretched  himself  on  it,  lighted 
a  candle  in  his  turn,  and  smoked  a  cigarette. 
Over  their  heads  could  be  heard,  deadened 
by  the  bomb-proof,  the  uninterrupted  roar  of 
the  discharges.  A  single  cannon  close  be- 
side them  shook  their  shelter  every  time  it 
thundered^  In  the  interior  everything  was 
quiet.  The  soldiers,  still  intimidated  by  the 
presence  of  the  new  officer,  only  exchanged 
a  word  with  each  other  now  and  then  to 
ask  for  a  light  or  a  little  room.  A  rat  was 
scratching  somewhere  among  the  stones, 
and  Viang,  who  had  not  yet  recovered  from 
his  emotion,  occasionally  sighed  deeply  as  he 
looked  about  him.  Volodia,  on  his  bed  in 
this  peaceful  corner  crammed  with  people, 
lighted  by  a  single  candle,  gave  himself  up 
to  the  feeling  of  comfort  which  he  had  often 
had  as  a  child  when,  playing  hide-and-seek, 
he  slipped  into  a  wardrobe  or  under  his 
mother's  skirt,  holding  his  breath,  stretch- 
ing his  ears,  being  very  much  afraid  of  the 


214  Sebastopol. 

dark,  and  feeling  at  the  same  time  an  un- 
conscious impression  of  well-being. 

In  the  same  way  here,  without  being  al- 
together at  his  ease,  he  felt  rather  disposed 

to  be  cheerful. 

XXI. 

At  the  end  of  ten  minutes  the  soldiers 
got  bold  and  began  to  talk.  Near  the  ofH- 
cer's  bed,  in  the  circle  of  light,  were  placed 
the  highest  in  rank — the  two  artificers,  one 
an  old  gray-haired  man,  his  breast  adorned 
with  a  mass  of  medals  and  crosses,  among 
which  the  cross  of  Saint  George  was  want- 
ing, however,  the  other  a  young  man,  smok- 
ing cigarettes  which  he  was  rolling,  and  the 
drummer,  who  placed  himself,  as  is  the  cus- 
tom, at  the  orders  of  the  officer,  in  the  back- 
ground. In  the  shadow  of  the  entrance, 
behind  the  bombardier  and  the  medalled 
soldiers  seated  in  front,  the  "  humbles  "  kept 
themselves.  They  were  the  first  to  break 
silence.  One  of  them,  running  in  fright- 
ened from  outside,  served  as  a  theme  for 
their  conversation. 

"  Eh !  say  there,  you  didn't  stay  long  in  the 
street.  Young  girls  are  not  playing  there, 
hey .?"  said  a  voice. 


August,  i8s5>  21  s 

"  On  the  contrary,  they  are  singing  won- 
derful sonss.  You  don't  hear  such  ones  in 
the  village,"  replied  the  new-comer,  with  a 
laugh,  and  all  out  of  breath. 

"  Vassina  doesn't  like  the  shells ;  no,  he 
doesn't  like  them  !"  some  one  cried  from  the 
aristocratic  side. 

"  When  it  is  necessary  it  is  another  story," 
slowly  replied  Vassina,  whom  everybody  lis- 
tened to  when  he  spoke.  "  The  twenty-fourth, 
for  example,  they  fired  so  that  it  was  a  bless- 
ing, and  there  is  no  harm  in  that.  Why  let 
us  be  killed  for  nothing  ?  Do  the  chiefs 
thank  us  for  that  ?" 

These  words  provoked  a  general  laugh. 

"  Nevertheless,  there  is  Melnikoff,  who  is 
outside  all  the  time,"  said  some  one. 

"  It  is  true.  Make  him  come  in,"  added 
the  old  artificer,  "otherwise  he  will  get  killed 
for  nothing." 

"  Who  is  this  Melnikoff  ?"  asked  Volodia. 

"  He  is,  your  Excellency,  an  animal  who 
is  afraid  of  nothing.  He  is  walking  about 
outside.  Please  examine  him  ;  he  looks  like 
a  bear." 

"  He  practises  witchcraft,"  added  Vassina, 
in  his  calm  voice. 


2  lb  ScbastopoL 

Melnikoff,  a  very  corpulent  soldier  (a  rare 
thing),  with  red  hair,  a  tremendously  bulging 
forehead, and  light  blue  projecting  eyes, came 
in  just  at  this  moment. 

"Are  you  afraid  of  bomb-shells  ?"  Volodia 
asked  him. 

"  Why  should  I  be  afraid  of  them  ?"  re- 
peated Melnikoff,  scratching  his  neck.  "  No 
bomb-shell  will  kill  me,  I  know." 

"  Do  you  like  to  live  here  V 

"  To  be  sure  I  do  ;  it  is  very  entertaining," 
and  he  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Then  you  must  be  sent  out  In  a  sortie. 
Would  you  like  to  t  I  will  speak  to  the 
general,"  said  Volodia,  although  he  knew  no 
general. 

"  Why  not  like  to }  I  should  like  to  very 
much !"  and  Melnikoff  disappeared  behind 
his  comrades. 

"  Come,  children,  let's  play  '  beggar  my 
neighbor !'  Who  has  cards  V  asked  an  im- 
patient voice,  and  the  game  immediately  be- 
gan in  the  farthest  corner.  The  calling  of 
the  tricks  could  be  heard,  the  sound  of  taps 
on  the  nose  and  the  bursts  of  laughter.  Vo- 
lodia in  the  mean  time  drank  tea  prepared 
by  the  drummer,  offering  some  to  the  arti- 


August,  1 8^^.  21/ 

ficers,  joking  and  chatting  with  them,  desir- 
ous of  making  himself  popular,  and  very  well 
satisfied  with  the  respect  they  showed  him. 
The  soldiers  having  noticed  that  the  "  ba- 
rine  "  was  a  good  fellow,  became  animated, 
and  one  of  them  announced  that  the  siege 
was  soon  eoinsf  to  come  to  an  end,  for  a  sail- 
or  had  told  him  for  a  certainty  that  Constan- 
tine,  the  Czar's  brother,  was  coming  to  deliv- 
er them  with  the  'merican'  *  fleet;  that  there 
would  soon  be  an  armistice  of  two  weeks 
to  rest,  and  that  seventy-five  kopeks  would 
have  to  be  paid  for  every  shot  that  was  fired 
during  the  truce. 

Vassina,  whom  Volodia  had  already  no- 
ticed— the  short  soldier  with  fine  great  eyes 
and  side-whiskers — related  in  his  turn,  in 
the  midst  of  a  general  silence,  which  was 
next  broken  by  bursts  of  laughter,  the  joy 
that  had  been  felt  at  first  on  seeing  him 
come  back  to  his  village  on  his  furlough,  and 
how  his  father  had  then  sent  him  to  work  in 
the  fields  every  day,  while  the  lieutenant- 
forester  sent  to  fetch  his  wife  in  a  carriage. 
Volodia  was  amused  by  all  these  tales.     He 

*  American. 


2i8  Sebastopol. 

had  no  longer  the  least  fear,  and  the  strong 
odors  which  filled  their  reduct  did  not  cause 
him  any  disgust.  He  felt,  on  the  contrary, 
very  gay,  and  in  a  very  agreeable  mood. 

Several  soldiers  were  snoring  already. 
Viang  was  also  lying  on  the  ground,  and 
the  old  artificer,  having  spread  his  overcoat 
on  the  earth,  crossed  himself  with  devotion 
and  mumbled  the  evening  prayer,  when  Vo- 
lodia  took  a  fancy  to  go  and  see  what  was 
going  on  out  of  doors. 

"  Pull  in  your  legs !"  the  soldiers  immedi- 
ately said  to  one  another  as  they  saw  him 
get  up,  and  each  one  drew  his  legs  back  to 
let  him  pass. 

Viang,  who  was  supposed  to  be  asleep, 
got  up  and  seized  Volodia  by  the  lapel  of 
his  coat.  "  Come,  don't  go !  what  is  the 
use  T  he  said,  in  a  tearful  and  persuasive 
voice.  "  You  don't  know  what  it  is.  Bul- 
lets are  raining  out  there.  We  are  better 
off  here." 

But  Volodia  went  out  without  heeding 
him,  and  sat  down  on  the  very  threshold  of 
their  quarters  by  the  side  of  Melnikoff. 

The  air  was  fresh  and  pure,  especially  af- 
ter that  he  had  just  been  breathing,  and  the 


Atigiist,  iS^^.  21  g 

night  was  clear  and  calm.  Through  the 
roar  of  the  cannonade  could  be  heard  the 
creak  of  the  wheels  of  the  carts  bringing 
gabions,  and  the  voices  of  those  working  in 
the  magazine.  Over  their  heads  sparkled 
the  starry  sky,  striped  by  the  luminous  fur- 
rows of  the  projectiles.  On  the  left  was 
a  small  opening,  two  feet  and  a  half  high, 
leading  to  a  bomb-proof  shelter,  where  could 
be  perceived  the  feet  and  the  backs  of  the 
sailors  who  lived  there,  and  who  were  plain- 
ly heard  talking.  Opposite  rose  the  mound 
which  covered  the  magazine,  in  front  of 
which  figures,  bent  double,  passed  and  re- 
passed. On  the  very  top  of  the  eminence, 
exposed  to  bullets  and  shells  which  did  not 
stop  whistling  at  that  spot,  was  a  tall  black 
figure,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  tram- 
pling on  the  fresh  earth  which  was  brought 
in  bags.  From  time  to  time  a  shell  fell  and 
burst  two  paces  from  him.  The  soldiers 
who  were  carrying  sacks  bent  down  and 
separated,  while  the  black  silhouette  contin- 
ued quietly  to  level  the  earth  with  his  feet 
without  changing  his  position. 

"  Who  is  it .?"  Volodia  asked  Melnikoff. 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  am  going  to  see." 


220  Sebastopol. 

"  Don't  go ;  it  is  no  use." 

But  Melnikoff  rose  without  listenino:  to 
him,  went  up  to  the  black  man,  and  remain- 
ed immovable  a  long  time  beside  him  with 
the  same  indifference  to  dano-er. 

"  It  is  the  guardian  of  the  magazine,  your 
Excellency,"  he  said,  on  his  return.  "  A 
shell  made  a  hole  in  it,  and  they  are  cover- 
ing it  up  with  earth." 

When  the  shells  seemed  to  fly  straight 
upon  the  bomb-proof  quarters  Volodia 
squeezed  himself  into  the  corner,  and  then 
came  out  raising  his  eyes  to  the  sky  to  see 
if  others  were  comino^.  Althousfh  Vlangf, 
still  lying  down,  had  more  than  once  begged 
him  to  come  in,  Volodia  passed  three  hours 
seated  on  the  threshold,  finding  a  certain 
pleasure  in  thus  exposing  himself,  as  well 
as  in  watching  the  flight  of  the  projectiles. 
Towards  the  end  of  the  evening:  he  knew 
perfectly  well  the  number  of  the  cannon  and 
the  direction  they  fired,  and  where  their 
shots  struck. 

XXII. 

The  next  day — the  27th  of  August — af- 
ter ten  hours  of  sleep,  Volodia  came  out 


Atcgust,  1855.  221 

of  the  bomb-proof  fresh  and  well,  Viang 
followed  him,  but  at  the  first  hissing  of  a 
cannon-ball  he  bounded  back  and  threw 
himself  through  the  narrow  opening,  knock- 
ing his  head  as  he  went,  to  the  general 
laugh  of  the  soldiers,  all  of  whom,  with  the 
exception  of  Viang,  of  the  old  artificer,  and 
two  or  three  others  who  rarely  showed  them- 
selves in  the  trenches,  had  slipped  outside 
to  breathe  the  fresh  morning  air.  In  spite 
of  the  violence  of  the  bombardment,  they 
could  not  be  prevented  from  remaining 
there,  some  near  the  entrance,  others  shel- 
tered by  the  parapet.  As  to  Melnikoff,  he 
had  been  going  and  coming  between  the  bat- 
teries since  daybreak,  looking  in  the  air 
with  indifference. 

On  the  very  threshold  of  the  quarters  were 
seated  three  soldiers,  two  old  and  one  young 
one.  The  latter,  a  curly-headed  Jewish  in- 
fantryman attached  to  the  battery,  picked 
up  a  bullet  which  rolled  at  his  feet,  and  flat- 
tening it  against  a  stone  with  a  piece  of  a 
shell,  he  cut  out  of  it  a  cross  on  the  model 
of  that  of  Saint  George,  while  the  others 
chatted,  watching  his  work  with  interest,  for 
he  succeeded  well  with  it, 


222  Sebastopol. 

"  I  say  that  if  we  stay  here  some  time  yet, 
when  peace  comes  we  shall  be  retired." 

"  Sure  enough.  I  have  only  four  years 
more  to  serve,  and  I  have  been  here  six 
months  !" 

"  That  doesn't  count  for  retirement,"  said 
another,  at  the  moment  when  a  cannon-ball 
whizzing  over  the  group  struck  the  earth  a 
yard  away  from  Melnikoff,  who  was  coming 
towards  them  in  the  trench. 

"  It  almost  killed  Melnikoff!"  cried  a  sol- 
dier. 

"  It  won't  kill  me,"  replied  the  former. 

"  Here,  take  this  cross  for  your  bravery," 
said  the  young  Jewish  soldier,  finishing  the 
cross  and  giving  it  to  him. 

"  No,  brother,  here  the  months  count  for 
years  without  exception.  There  was  an  or- 
der about  it,"  continued  the  talker. 

"  Whatever  happens,  there  will  surely  be, 
on  the  conclusion  of  peace,  a  review  by  the 
Emperor  at  Warsaw,  and  if  we  are  not  re- 
tired we  shall  have  an  unlimited  furlough." 

Just  at  this  instant  a  small  cannon-ball 
passing  over  their  heads  with  a  ricochet, 
seemed  to  moan  and  whistle  together  and 
fell  on  a  stone. 


August,    1 8^^.  22^ 

"Attention!"  said  one  of  the  soldiers. 
"  Perhaps  between  now  and  night  you  will 
get  your  definite  furlough  !" 

Everybody  began  to  laugh.  Two  hours 
had  not  passed,  evening  had  not  yet  come,  be- 
fore two  of  them  had,  in  effect,  received  their 
"definite  furlough,"  and  five  had  been  wound- 
ed, but  the  rest  continued  to  joke  as  before. 

In  the  morning  the  two  mortars  had  been 
put  in  order,  and  Volodia  received  at  ten 
o'clock  the  order  from  the  commander  of 
the  bastion  to  assemble  his  men  and  eo 
with  them  upon  the  battery.  Once  at  work, 
there  remained  no  trace  of  that  terror  which 
the  evening  before  showed  itself  so  plainly. 
Viang  alone  did  not  succeed  in  overcoming 
it ;  he  hid  himself,  and  bent  down  every  in- 
stant. Vassina  had  also  lost  his  coolness, 
he  was  excited  and  saluted.  As  to  Volo- 
dia, stirred  by  an  enthusiastic  satisfaction,  he 
thought  no  more  of  the  danger.  The  joy 
he  felt  at  doing  his  duty  well,  at  being  no 
longer  a  coward,  at  feeling  himself,  on  the 
contrary,  full  of  courage,  the  feeling  of  com- 
manding and  the  presence  of  twenty  men, 
who  he  knew  were  watching  him  with  curi- 
osity, had  made  a  real  hero  of  him.     Being 


22^  Sebastopol. 

even  a  little  vain  of  his  bravery,  he  got  up 
on  the  banquette,  unbuttoning  his  coat  so  as 
to  be  well  observ^ed.  The  commander  of  the 
bastion,  in  going  his  rounds,  although  he 
had  been  accustomed  during  eight  months 
to  courage  in  all  its  forms,  could  not  help 
admiring  this  fine-looking  boy  with  animated 
face  and  eyes,  his  unbuttoned  coat  exposing 
a  red  shirt,  which  confined  a  white  and  deli- 
cate neck,  clapping  his  hands,  and  crying  in 
a  voice  of  command,  "  First !  second  !"  and 
jumping  gayly  on  the  rampart  to  see  where 
his  shell  had  fallen.  At  half-past  eleven  the 
firing  stopped  on  both  sides,  and  at  noon 
precisely  began  the  assault  on  the  Malakoff 
mamelon,  as  well  as  upon  the  second,  third, 
and  fifth  bastions. 

XXIII. 

On  this  side  of  the  bay,  between  Inker- 
man  and  the  fortifications  of  the  north,  two 
sailors  were  standing,  in  the  middle  of  the 
day,  on  Telegraph  Height.  Near  them  an 
officer  was  looking  at  Sebastopol  through 
a  field-glass,  and  another  on  horseback,  ac- 
companied by  a  Cossack,  had  just  rejoined 
him  near  the  great  signal-pole. 


August,  i8^^.  22^ 

The  sun  soared  over  the  gulf,  where  the 
water,  covered  with  ships  at  anchor,  and 
with  sail  and  row  boats  in  motion,  played 
merrily  in  its  warm  and  luminous  rays.  A 
light  breeze,  which  scarcely  shook  the  leaves 
of  the  stunted  oak  bushes  that  grew  beside 
the  signal-station,  filled  the  sails  of  the  boats, 
and  made  the  waves  ripple  softly.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  gulf  Sebastopol  was  visi- 
ble, unchanged,  with  its  unfinished  church, 
its  column,  its  quay,  the  boulevard  which 
cut  the  hill  with  a  green  band,  the  elegant 
library  building,  its  little  lakes  of  azure  blue, 
with  their  forests  of  masts,  its  picturesque 
aqueducts,  and,  above  all  that,  clouds  of  a 
bluish  tint,  formed  by  powder-smoke,  light- 
ed up  from  time  to  time  by  the  red  flame  of 
the  firing.  It  was  the  same  proud  and  beau- 
tiful Sebastopol,  with  its  festal  air,  surround- 
ed on  one  side  by  the  yellow  smoke-crowned 
hills,  on  the  other  by  the  sea,  deep  blue  in 
color,  and  sparkling  brilliantly  in  the  sun. 
At  the  horizon,  where  the  smoke  of  a  steam- 
er traced  a  black  line,  white,  narrow  clouds 
were  rising,  precursors  of  a  wind.  Along 
the  whole  line  of  the  fortifications,  along  the 
heights,  especially  on  the  left  side,  spurted 
15 


226  Sebastopol. 

out  suddenly,  torn  by  a  visible  flash,  although 
it  was  broad  daylight,  plumes  of  thick  white 
smoke,  which,  assuming  various  forms,  ex- 
tended, rose,  and  colored  the  sky  with  som- 
bre tints.  These  jets  of  smoke  came  out  on 
all  sides  —  from  the  hills,  from  the  hostile 
batteries,  from  the  city — and  flew  towards 
the  sky.  The  noise  of  the  explosions  shook 
the  air  with  a  continuous  roar.  Towards 
noon  these  smoke -puffs  became  rarer  and 
rarer,  and  the  vibrations  of  the  air  strata 
became  less  frequent. 

"Do  you  know  that  the  second  bastion 
is  no  longer  replying  T  said  the  hussar  offi- 
cer on  horseback ;  "  it  is  entirely  demol- 
ished.    It  is  terrible !" 

"  Yes,  and  the  Malakoff  replies  twice  out 
of  three  times,"  answered  the  one  who  was 
looking  through  the  field-glass.  "  This  si- 
lence is  drivinor  me  mad !  Thev  are  firinof 
straight  on  the  Korniloff  battery,  and  that 
is  not  replying." 

"  You'll  see  it  will  be  as  I  said ;  towards 
noon  they  will  cease  firing.  It  is  always  that 
way.  Come  and  take  breakfast,  they  are 
waiting  for  us.  There  is  nothing  more  to 
see  here." 


August,  1855.  22^ 

"  Wait,  don't  bother  me,"  replied,  with 
marked  agitation,  the  one  looking  through 
the  field-glass. 

"  What  is  it  ? — what's  the  matter  ?" 

"  There  is  a  movement  in  the  trenches ; 
they  are  marching  in  close  columns." 

"  Yes,  I  see  it  well,"  said  one  of  the  sail- 
ors ;  "  they  are  advancing  by  columns.  We 
must  set  the  signal." 

"But  see,  there — see  !  They  are  coming 
out  of  the  trenches  !" 

They  could  see,  in  fact,  with  the  naked 
eye  black  spots  going  down  from  the  hill 
into  the  ravine,  and  proceeding  from  the 
French  batteries  towards  our  bastions.  In 
the  foreground,  in  front  of  the  former,  black 
spots  could  be  seen  very  near  our  lines. 
Suddenly,  from  different  points  of  the  bas- 
tion at  the  same  time,  spurted  out  the  white 
plumes  of  the  discharges,  and,  thanks  to  the 
wind,  the  noise  of  a  lively  fusillade  could  be 
heard,  like  the  patter  of  a  heavy  rain  against 
the  windows.  The  black  lines  advanced, 
wrapped  in  a  curtain  of  smoke,  and  came 
nearer.  The  fusillade  increased  in  violence. 
The  smoke  burst  out  at  shorter  and  shorter 
intervals,  extended  rapidly  along  the  line  in 


228  Sebastopol. 

a  single  light,  lilac-colored  cloud,  unrolling 
and  enlarging  itself  by  turns,  furrowed  here 
and  there  by  flashes  or  rent  by  black  points. 
All  the  noises  mingled  together  in  the  tu- 
mult of  one  continued  roar. 

"  It  is  an  assault,"  said  the  officer,  pale 
with  emotion,  handing  his  glass  to  the  sailor. 

Cossacks  and  officers  on  horseback  went 
along  the  road,  preceding  the  commander- 
in-chief  in  his  carriage,  accompanied  by  his 
suite.  Their  faces  expressed  the  painful 
emotion  of  expectation. 

"  It  is  impossible  that  it  is  taken !"  said 
the  officer  on  horseback. 

"  God  in  heaven  ! — the  flag !  Look  now !" 
cried  the  other,  choked  by  emotion,  turning 
away  from  the  glass.  "  The  French  flag  is 
in  the  Malakoff  mamelon !" 

"  Impossible !" 

XXIV. 

Koseltzoff  the  elder,  who  had  had  the 
time  during  the  night  to  win  and  lose  again 
all  his  winnings,  including  even  the  gold- 
pieces  sewn  in  the  seams  of  his  uniform, 
was  sleeping,  towards  morning,  in  the  bar- 
racks of  the  fifth  bastion,  a  heavy  but  deep 


August,  iSsS'  22g 

sleep,  when  the  sinister  cry  rang  out,  re- 
peated by  different  voices,  "  The  alarm  !" 

"  Wake  up,  Mikhail  Semenovitch  !  It  is 
an  assault !"  a  voice  cried  in  his  ear. 

"  A  school-boy  trick,"  he  replied,  opening 
his  eyes  without  believing  the  news ;  but 
when  he  perceived  an  officer,  pale,  agitated, 
running  wildly  from  one  corner  to  another, 
he  understood  all,  and  the  thought  that  he 
might  perhaps  be  taken  for  a  coward  re- 
fusing to  join  his  company  in  a  critical  mo- 
ment, gave  him  such  a  violent  start  that  he 
rushed  out  and  ran  straight  to  find  his  sol- 
diers. The  cannon  were  dumb,  but  the  mus- 
ket-firing was  at  its  height,  and  the  bullets 
were  whistling,  not  singly  but  in  swarms, 
just  as  the  flights  of  little  birds  pass  over 
our  heads  in  autumn.  The  whole  of  the 
place  occupied  by  the  battalion  the  evening 
before  was  filled  with  smoke,  with  cries,  and 
with  curses.  On  his  way  he  met  a  crowd 
of  soldiers  and  wounded,  and  thirty  paces 
farther  on  he  saw  his  company  brought  to 
a  stand  against  a  wall. 

"  The  Swartz  redoubt  is  occupied,"  said 
a  young  officer.     "  All  is  lost !" 

"  What  stuff  and  nonsense  !"  he  angrily 


2JO  Sebastopol. 

replied,  and  drawing  his  small  rusty  sword 
from  its  scabbard,  shouted,  "  Forward,  chil- 
dren!     Hurrah!" 

His  strong  and  resounding  voice  stimu- 
lated his  own  courage,  and  he  ran  forward 
along  the  traverse.  Fifty  soldiers  dashed  af- 
ter him  with  a  shout.  They  came  out  on  an 
open  place,  and  a  hail  of  bullets  met  them. 
Two  struck  him  simultaneously,  but  he  did 
not  have  time  to  understand  where  they  had 
hit  him,  or  whether  they  had  bruised  or  had 
wounded  him,  for  in  the  smoke  before  him 
blue  uniforms  and  red  trousers  started  up, 
and  cries  were  heard  which  were  not  Rus- 
sian. A  Frenchman  sitting  on  the  rampart 
was  waving  his  hat  and  shouting.  The  con- 
viction that  he  would  be  killed  whetted 
Koseltzoff's  courage.  He  continued  to  run 
forward ;  some  soldiers  passed  him,  others 
appeared  suddenly  from  another  side  and 
began  to  run  with  him.  The  distance  be- 
tween them  and  the  blue  uniforms,  who  re- 
gained their  intrenchments  by  running,  re- 
mained the  same,  but  his  feet  stumbled 
over  the  dead  and  the  wounded.  Arrived 
at  the  outer  ditch,  everything  became  con- 
fused before  his  eyes,  and  he  felt  a  violent 


Augtist,  1 8^^.  2JI 

pain  in  his  chest.  A  half  hour  later  he  was 
lying  on  a  stretcher  near  the  Nicholas  bar- 
rack. He  knew  he  was  wounded,  but  he 
felt  no  pain.  He  would  have  liked,  never- 
theless, to  drink  something  cold,  and  to  feel 
himself  lying  more  comfortably. 

A  stout  little  doctor  with  black  whiskers 
came  up  to  him  and  unbuttoned  his  over- 
coat. Koseltzoff  looked  over  his  chin  at 
the  face  of  the  doctor,  who  was  examining 
his  wound  without  causing  him  the  least 
pain.  He,  having  covered  the  wounded 
man  again  with  his  shirt,  wiped  his  fingers 
on  the  lapels  of  his  coat,  and  turning  aside 
his  head,  passed  to  another  in  silence.  Ko- 
seltzoff mechanically  followed  with  his  eyes 
all  that  was  going  on  about  him,  and  re- 
membering the  fifth  bastion,  congratulated 
himself  with  great  satisfaction.  He  had  val- 
iantly done  his  duty.  It  was  the  first  time 
since  he  was  in  the  service  that  he  had  per- 
formed it  in  a  way  that  he  had  nothing  to 
reproach  himself  for.  The  surgeon,  who 
had  just  dressed  another  officers  wound, 
pointed  him  out  to  a  priest,  who  had  a  fine 
large  red  beard,  and  who  stood  there  with  a 
cross. 


2J2  Sebastopol. 

"  Am  I  going  to  die  ?"  Koseltzoff  asked 
him,  seeing  him  come  near. 

The  priest  made  no  reply,  but  recited  a 
prayer  and  held  the  cross  down  to  him. 
Death  had  no  terror  for  Koseltzoff.  Carry- 
ing the  cross  to  his  lips  with  weakening 
hands,  he  wept. 

"  Are  the  French  driven  back  ?"  he  asked 
the  priest  in  a  firm  voice. 

"  Victory  is  ours  along  the  whole  line," 
answered  the  latter,  hiding  the  truth  to 
spare  the  feelings  of  the  dying  man,  for  the 
French  flag  was  already  flying  on  the  Ma- 
lakoff  mamelon. 

"  Thank  God !"  murmured  the  wounded 
man,  whose  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks  un- 
noticed. The  memory  of  his  brother  passed 
through  his  mind  for  a  second.  "  God 
grant  him  the  same  happiness !"  he  said. 

XXV. 

But  such  was  not  Volodia's  lot.  While 
he  was  listening  to  a  tale  that  Vassina  was 
relating,  the  alarm  cry,  "  The  French  are 
coming !"  made  his  blood  rush  immediately 
back  to  his  heart ;  he  felt  his  cheeks  joale 
and  turn  cold,  and  he  remained  a  second 


August,  1 8^^.  2JJ 

stupefied.  Then  looking  around,  he  saw  the 
soldiers  button  their  coats  and  glide  out  one 
after  the  other,  and  he  heard  one  of  them, 
Melnikoff,  probably,  say,  in  a  joking  way, 
"  Come,  children,  let's  offer  him  bread  and 
salt." 

Volodia  and  Viang,  who  did  not  leave  his 
heels,  went  out  together  and  ran  to  the  bat- 
tery. On  one  side  as  well  as  on  the  other 
the  artillery  had  ceased  firing.  The  des-. 
picable  and  cynical  cowardice  of  the  yunker 
still  more  than  the  coolness  of  the  soldiers 
had  the  effect  of  restoring  his  courage. 

"  Am  I  like  him .?"  he  thought,  rushing 
quickly  towards  the  parapet,  near  which  the 
mortars  were  placed.  From  there  he  dis- 
tinctly saw  the  French  dash  across  the  space, 
free  from  every  obstacle,  and  run  straight 
towards  him.  Their  bayonets,  sparkling  in 
the  sun,  were  moving  in  the  nearest  trench- 
er. A  small,  square-shouldered  Zouave  ran 
ahead  of  the  others,  sabre  in  hand,  leaping 
over  the  ditches.  "  Grape !"  shouted  Volo- 
dia, throwing  himself  down  from  the  para- 
pet. But  the  soldiers  had  already  thought 
of  it,  and  the  metallic  noise  of  the  grape, 
thrown   first   by   one   mortar  and   then   by 


2J4  Sebastopol. 

the  other,  thundered  over  his  head.  "  First ! 
second  !"  he  ordered,  runnino- across  between 
the  two  mortars,  completely  forgetting  the 
danger.  Shouts  and  the  musket  reports  of 
the  battalion  charged  with  the  defence  of 
the  battery  were  heard  on  one  side,  and  sud- 
denly on  the  left  arose  a  desperate  clamor, 
repeated  by  many  voices:  "  They  are  coming 
in  our  rear!"  and  Volodia,  turning  around, 
saw  a  score  of  Frenchmen.  One  of  them, 
a  fine  man  with  a  black  beard,  ran  towards 
him,  and  halting  ten  paces  from  the  battery, 
fired  at  him  point-blank  and  went  on.  Vo- 
lodia, petrified,  could  not  believe  his  eyes. 
In  front  of  him,  on  the  rampart,  were  blue 
uniforms,  and  two  Frenchmen  who  were 
spiking  a  cannon.  With  the  exception  of 
Melnikoff,  killed  by  a  bullet  at  his  side,  and 
Viang,  who  with  downcast  eyes,  and  face 
inflamed  by  fury,  was  brandishing  a  hand- 
spike, no  one  was  left. 

"  Follow  me,  Vladimir  Semenovitch  !  fol- 
low me  !"  shouted  Viang,  in  a  despairing 
tone,  defending  himself  with  the  lever  from 
the  French  who  came  behind  him.  The 
yunker's  menacing  look,  and  the  blow  which 
he  struck  two  of  them,  made  them  halt. 


August,  i8s5.  2JS 

"  Follow  me,  Vladimir  Semenovitch  ! — 
What  are  you  waiting  for  ?  Fly !"  and  he 
threw  himself  into  the  trench,  from  which 
our  infantry  were  firing  on  the  enemy.  He 
immediately  came  out  of  it,  however,  to  see 
what  had  become  of  his  beloved  lieutenant. 
A  shapeless  thing,  clothed  in  a  gray  over- 
coat, lay,  face  to  earth,  on  the  spot  where  Vo- 
lodia  stood,  and  the  whole  place  was  filled  by 
the  French,  who  were  firing  at  our  men. 

XXVI. 

Viang  found  his  battery  again  in  the  sec- 
ond line  of  defence,  and  of  the  twenty  sol- 
diers who  recently  composed  it,  only  eight 
were  alive. 

Towards  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  Viang 
and  his  men  were  crossing  the  bay  in  a  steam- 
boat in  the  direction  of  Severnai'a.  The  boat 
was  laden  with  wounded,  with  cannon,  and 
with  horses.  The  firing  had  stopped  every- 
where. The  stars  sparkled  in  the  sky  as  on 
the  night  before,  but  a  strong  wind  was  blow- 
ing and  the  sea  was  rough.  On  the  first  and 
second  bastions  flames  flashed  up  close  to  the 
ground,  preceding  explosions  which  shook 
the  atmosphere  and  showed  stones  and  black 


2j6  Sebastopol. 

objects  of  strange  form  thrown  into  the  air. 
Something  near  the  docks  was  on  fire,  and 
a  red  flame  was  reflected  in  the  water.  The 
bridge,  covered  with  people,  was  lighted  up 
by  fires  from  the  Nicholas  battery.  A  great 
sheaf  of  flames  seemed  to  rise  over  the  water 
on  the  distant  point  of  the  Alexander  battery, 
and  lighted  up  the  under  side  of  a  cloud  of 
smoke  which  hovered  over  it.  As  on  the 
preceding  evening,  the  lights  of  the  hostile 
fleet  sparkled  afar  on  the  sea,  calm  and  inso- 
lent. The  masts  of  our  scuttled  vessels,  slow- 
ly settling  into  the  depths  of  the  water,  con- 
trasted sharply  against  the  red  glow  of  the 
fires.  On  the  deck  of  the  steamboat  no  one 
spoke.  Now  and  then,  in  the  midst  of  the 
regular  chopping  of  the  waves  struck  by  the 
wheels,  and  the  hissing  of  escaping  steam, 
could  be  heard  the  snorting  of  horses,  the 
striking  of  their  iron-shod  hoofs  on  the 
planks,  the  captain  speaking  a  few  words  of 
command,  and  also  the  dolorous  groaning 
of  the  wounded.  Viang,  who  had  not  eaten 
since  the  day  before,  drew  a  crust  of  bread 
from  his  pocket  and  gnawed  it,  but  at  the 
thought  of  Volodiahe  broke  out  sobbing  so 
violently  that  the  soldiers  were  surprised  at  it. 


August,  i8ss-  ^37 

"  Look !  our  Viang  is  eating  bread  and 
weeping,"  said  Vassina. 

"  Strange  !"  added  one  of  them. 

"  See !  they  have  burned  our  barracks  !" 
he  continued,  sighing.  "  How  many  of  our 
fellows  are  dead,  and  dead  to  no  purpose, 
for  the  French  have  got  possession !" 

"  We  have  scarcely  come  out  alive.  We 
must  thank  God  for  it,"  said  Vassina. 

"  It's  all  the  same.     It  is  maddening !" 

"  Why  ?  Do  you  think  they  will  lead  a 
happy  life  there .?  Wait  a  bit ;  we  will  take 
them  back.  We  will  still  lose  some  of  our 
men,  possibly,  but  as  true  as  God  is  holy,  if 
the  emperor  orders  it  we  will  take  them 
back !  Do  you  think  they  have  been  left  as 
they  were  ?  Come,  come  ;  these  were  only 
naked  walls.  The  intrenchments  were  blown 
up.  He  has  planted  his  flag  on  the  mame- 
lon,  it  is  true,  but  he  won't  risk  himself  in 
the  town.  Wait  a  bit ;  we  won't  be  be- 
hindhand with  you  !  Only  give  us  time,"  he 
said,  looking  in  the  direction  of  the  French. 

"  It  will  be  so,  that's  sure,"  said  another, 
with  conviction. 

On  the  whole  line  of  the  bastions  of  Se- 
bastopol,  where  during  whole  months  an  ar- 


2j8  Sebastopol. 

dent  and  energetic  life  was  stirring,  where 
durincr  months  death  alone  reHeved  the  a^- 
ony  of  the  heroes,  one  after  the  other,  who 
inspired  the  enemy's  terror,  hatred,  and  final- 
ly admiration — on  these  bastions,  I  say,  there 
was  not  a  single  soul,  everything  there  was 
dead,  fierce,  frightful,  but  not  silent,  for  ev- 
erything all  around  was  falling  in  with  a  din. 
On  the  earth,  torn  up  by  a  recent  explosion, 
were  lying,  here  and  there,  broken  beams, 
crushed  bodies  of  Russians  and  French, 
heavy  cast-iron  cannon  overturned  into  the 
ditch  by  a  terrible  force,  half  buried  in  the 
ground  and  forever  dumb,  bomb-shells,  balls, 
splinters  of  beams,  ditches,  bomb-proofs,  and 
more  corpses,  in  blue  or  in  gray  overcoats, 
which  seemed  to  have  been  shaken  by  su- 
preme convulsions,  and  which  were  lighted 
up  now  every  instant  by  the  red  fire  of  the 
explosions  which  resounded  in  the  air. 

The  enemy  well  saw  that  something  un- 
usual was  going  on  in  formidable  Sebasto- 
pol, and  the  explosions,  the  silence  of  death 
on  the  bastions,  made  them  tremble.  Un- 
der the  impression  of  the  calm  and  firm  re- 
sistance of  the  last  day  they  did  not  yet  dare 
believe  in  the  disappearance  of  their  invinci- 


August,  18^5.  2jg 

ble  adversary,  and  they  awaited,  silent  and 
motionless,  the  end  of  the  dismal  night. 

The  army  of  Sebastopol,  like  a  sea  whose 
liquid  mass,  agitated  and  uneasy,  spreads 
and  overflows,  moved  slowly  forward  in  the 
dark  night,  undulating  into  the  impenetra- 
ble gloom,  over  the  bridge  on  the  bay,  pro- 
ceeding towards  Severnai'a,  leaving  behind 
them  those  spots  where  so  many  heroes  had 
fallen,  sprinkling  them  with  their  blood, 
those  places  defended  during  eleven  months 
against  an  enemy  twice  as  strong  as  itself, 
and  which  it  had  received  the  order  this 
very  day  to  abandon  without  a  fight. 

The  first  impression  caused  by  this  order 
of  the  day  weighed  heavily  on  the  heart  of 
every  Russian  ;  next  the  fear  of  pursuit  was 
the  dominant  feeling  with  all.  The  sol- 
diers, accustomed  to  fight  in  the  places  they 
were  abandoning,  felt  themselves  without 
defence  the  moment  they  left  those  behind. 
Uneasy,  they  crowded  together  in  masses 
at  the  entrance  of  the  bridge,  which  was 
lifted  by  violent  wind  gusts.  Through  the 
obstruction  of  regiments,  of  militiamen,  of 
wagons,  some  crowding  the  others,  the  in- 
fantry, whose  muskets  clashed  together,  and 


240  Sebastopol. 

the  officers  carrying  orders,  made  a  passage 
for  themselves  with  difficulty.  The  inhabi- 
tants and  the  military  servants  accompany- 
ing the  baggage  begged  and  wept  to  be  per- 
mitted to  cross,  while  the  artillery,  in  a  hurry 
to  go  away,  rolled  along  noisily,  coming 
down  towards  the  bay.  Although  the  at- 
tention was  distracted  by  a  thousand  details, 
the  feeling  of  self-preservation,  and  the  de- 
sire to  fly  as  soon  as  possible  from  that  fatal 
spot,  filled  each  ones  soul.  It  was  thus 
with  the  mortally  wounded  soldier  lying 
among  five  hundred  other  unfortunates  on 
the  flag -stones  of  the  Paul  quay,  begging 
God  for  death ;  with  the  exhausted  militia- 
man, who  by  a  last  effort  forces  his  way 
into  the  compact  crowd  to  leave  a  free  pas- 
sage for  a  superior  officer ;  with  the  general 
who  is  commanding  the  passage  with  a  firm 
voice,  and  restraining  the  impatient  sol- 
diers ;  with  the  straggling  sailor  or  the  bat- 
talion on  the  march,  almost  stifled  by  the 
moving  crowd ;  with  the  wounded  officer 
borne  by  four  soldiers,  who,  stopped  by  the 
crowd,  lay  down  the  stretcher  near  the 
Nicholas  barracks  ;  with  the  old  artillery- 
man, who,  during  sixteen  years,  has  not  left 


All  gust,  i8^^.  241 

the  cannon  which,  with  the  assistance  of  his 
comrades  and  at  the  command  of  his  chief, 
incomprehensible  for  him,  he  is  about  to 
tumble  over  into  the  bay;  and,  at  length, 
with  the  sailors  who  have  just  scuttled  their 
ships,  and  are  vigorously  rowing  away  in 
their  boats. 

Arrived  at  the  end  of  the  bridge,  each 
soldier,  with  very  few  exceptions,  takes  off 
his  cap  and  crosses  himself.  But  besides 
this  feeling  he  has  another,  more  poignant, 
deeper — a  feeling  akin  to  repentance,  to 
shame,  to  hatred ;  for  it  is  with  an  inex- 
pressible bitterness  of  heart  that  each  of 
them  sighs,  utters  threats  against  the  ene- 
my, and,  as  he  reaches  the  north  side,  throws 
a  last  look  upon  abandoned  Sebastopol. 


FINIS. 


16 


BEN-HUll:  A  TALE  OF  THE  CHRIST. 


By  Lew,  Wallace.     New  Edition,     pp.  552.     16mo, 
Cloth,  $1  50. 

Anything  so  startling,  new,  and  distinctive  as  the  leading  feature  of  this 
romance  does  not  often  appear  in  works  of  fiction.  .  .  .  Some  of  Mr.  Wal- 
lace's writing  is  remarkable  for  its  pathetic  eloquence.  The  scenes  de- 
scribed in  the  New  Testament  are  rewritten  with  the  power  and  skill  of 
an  accomplished  master  of  style. — N'.  Y.  Times. 

Its  real  basis  is  a  description  of  the  life  of  the  Jews  and  Romans  at  the 
beginning  of  the  Christian  era,  and  this  is  both  forcible  and  brilliant.  .  .  . 
We  are  carried  through  a  surprising  variety  of  scenes ;  we  witness  a  sea- 
fight,  a  chariot-race,  the  internal  economy  of  a  Roman  galley,  domestic  in- 
teriors at  Antioch,  at  Jerusalem,  and  among  the  tribes  of  the  desert;  pal- 
aces, prisons,  the  haunts  of  dissipated  Roman  youth,  the  houses  of  pious 
families  of  Israel.  There  is  plenty  of  exciting  incident;  everything  is 
animated,  vivid,  and  glowing. — zV.  Y.  IVibune. 

From  the  opening  of  the  volume  to  the  very  close  the  reader's  interest 
will  be  kept  at  the  highest  pitch,  and  the  novel  will  be  pronounced  by  all 
one  of  the  greatest  novels  of  the  day. — Boiton  Post. 

It  is  full  of  poetic  beauty,  as  though  born  of  an  Eastern  sage,  and  there 
is  sufficient  of  Oriental  customs,  geography,  nomenclature,  etc.,  to  greatly 
strengthen  the  semblance. — Boston  Commonwealth. 

"Ben-Hiir"  is  interesting,  and  its  characterization  is  fine  and  strong. 
Meanwhile  .t  evmces  careful  study  of  the  perfod  in  which  the  scene  is  laid, 
and  will  help  those  who  read  it  with  reasonable  attention  to  realize  the 
nature  and  conditions  of  Hebrew  life  in  Jerusalem  and  Roman  life  at 
Antioch  at  the  time  of  our  Saviour's  advent. — Examiner,  N.  Y. 

It  is  really  Scripture  history  of  Christ's  time  clothed  gracefully  and 
delicately  in  the  flowing  and  loose  drapery  of  modern  fiction.  .  .  .  Few  late 
works  of  fiction  excel  it  in  genuine  ability  and  interest. — N.  Y.  Graphic. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  and  delightful  books.  It  is  as  real  and 
warm  as  life  itself,  and  as  attractive  as  the  grandest  and  most  lieroic 
chapters  of  history. — hidianapolis  Journal. 

The  book  is  one  of  unquestionable  power,  and  will  be  read  with  un- 
wonted interest  by  many  readers  who  are  weary  of  the  conventional  novel 
and  romance. — Boston  Journal. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

4S~  The  above  work  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States 
or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


THEIR  PILGRIMAGE. 

By  Charles  Dudley  Warner.     Richly  Illustrated  by  C.  S. 
Reinhart.     pp.  viii.,  364.     8vo,  Half  Leather,  $2  00. 


Aside  from  the  delicious  story — its  wonderful  portraitures  of  character 
aud  its  dramatic  developmeut — the  book  is  precious  to  all  who  know  any- 
thing about  the  great  American  watering-places,  for  it  contains  incompar- 
able descriptions  of  those  famous  resorts  and  their  frequenters.  Even 
without  the  aid  of  Mr.  Reinhart's  brilliant  drawings,  Mr.  Warner  conjures 
up  word-pictures  of  Cape  May,  Newport,  Saratoga,  Lake  George,  Richfield 
Springs,  Niagara,  the  White  Mountains,  and  all  the  rest,  which  strike  the 
eye  like  photographs,  so  clear  is  every  outline.  But  Mr.  Reinhart's  de- 
signs lit  into  the  text  so  closely  that  we  could  not  bear  to  part  with  a 
single  one  of  them.  "Their  Pilgrimage"  is  destined,  for  an  indefinite 
succession  of  summers,  to  be  a  ruling  favorite  with  all  visitors  of  the 
mountains,  the  beaches,  and  the  spas  which  are  so  marvellously  reflected 
in  its  pages. — N".  Y.  Joicrnal  of  Commerce. 

The  author  touches  the  canvas  here  and  there  with  lines  of  color  that 
fix  and  identify  American  character.  Herein  is  the  real  cliarm  for  those 
who  like  it  best,  and  for  this  one  may  anticipate  that  it  will  be  one  of  the 
prominent  books  of  the  time.  Of  the  fancy  and  humor  of  Mr.  Warner, 
which  in  witchc'-y  of  their  play  and  power  are  quite  independent  of  this 
or  that  subject,  there  is  nothing  to  add.  But  acknowledgment  is  due  Mr. 
Reinhart  for  nearly  eighty  finely  conceived  drawings,  and  to  the  publishers 
for  the  substantial  and  rich  letter-press  and  covers. — Boston  Globe. 

No  more  entertaining  travelling  companions  for  a  tour  of  pleasure  re- 
sorts could  be  wished  for  than  tliose  who  in  Mr.  Warner's  pages  chat  and 
laugh,  and  skim  the  cream  of  all  the  enjoyment  to  be  found  from  Mount 
Washington  to  the  Sulphur  Springs.  .  .  .  His  pen-pictures  of  the  charac- 
ters typical  of  each  resort,  of  the  manner  of  life  followed  at  each,  of  the 
humor  and  absurdities  peculiar  to  Saratoga,  or  Newport,  or  Bar  Harbor, 
as  the  case  may  be,  are  as  good-natured  as  they  are  clever.  The  satire, 
when  there  is  any,  is  of  the  mildest,  and  the  general  tone  is  that  of  one 
glad  to  look  on  the  brightest  side  of  the  cheerful,  pleasure-seeking  world 
with  which  he  mingles.  ...  In  Mr.  Reinhart  the  author  has  an  assistant 
who  has  done  with  his  pencil  almost  exactly  what  Mr.  Warner  has  accom- 
plished with  his  pen.  His  drawings  are  spirited,  catch  with  wonderful 
success  the  tone  and  costume  of  each  place  visited,  and  abound  in  good- 
natured  fun. —  Christian  Union,  N.  Y. 

Mr.  Reinhart's  spirited  and  realistic  illustrations  are  very  attractive,  and 
contribute  to  make  an  unusually  handsome  book.  We  have  already  com- 
mented upon  the  earlier  chapters  of  the  text;  and  the  happy  blending  of 
travel  and  fiction  which  we  looked  forward  to  with  confidence  did,  in  fact, 
distinguish  this  story  among  the  serials  of  the  year. — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

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For  a  Fvi.t.  List  op  Novels  published  by  Harper  &  Brothers,  see  Harper's  New 
AND  Revised  Catai-oque,  which  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  ad- 
dress in  the  United  States,  on  receipt  of  Ten  cents. 


BAKER'S  (Rev.  "W.  M.)  Carter  Quarterraan.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  $  60 

Inside:  a  Chronicle  of  Secession.    Illustrated 8vo,Paper  15 

The  New  Timothy 12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50;       4to,  Taper  25 

The  Virginians  in  Texas 8vo,  Paper  75 

BENEDICT'S  (F.  L.)  John  Worthington's  Name 8vo,  Paper  15 

Miss  Dorothy's  Charge 8vo,  Paper  75 

Miss  Van  Kortland Svo,  Paper  60 

My  Daughter  Elinor 8vo,  Paper  80 

St.  Simon's  Niece 8vo,  Paper  60 

BESANT'S  (W.)  All  in  a  Garden  Fair 4to,  Paper  20 

BESANT  &  RICE'S  All  Sorts  and  Conditions  of  Men 4to,  Paper  20 

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Shepherds  All  and  Maidens  Fair 32mo,  Paper  25 

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The  Chaplain  of  the  Fleet 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Golden  Butterfly 8vo,  Paper  40 

'Twas  in  Trafalgar's  Bay 82mo,  Paper  20 

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In  Silk  Attire 12mo,  Cloth,    125;       Svo,  Paper  35 

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Kilmeny 12/no,  Cloth,    1  25;       Svo,  Paper  36 

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4to,  Paper  15 

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That  Beautiful  Wretch.     Iird...l2mo,  Cloth,    125;       4to,  Paper  20 

The  Maid  of  Killeena,  and  Other  Stories Svo,  Paper  40 

The  Monarch  of  Mincing-Lane.    Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

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Harper  d  Brothers^  Popular  Novels. 


FBioa 

BLACK'S  (W.)  Yolande.     Illustrated...  12rao,  Cloth,  $1  25  ;  4to,  Paper  $  20 

BLACKMORE'S  (R.  D.)  Alice  Lorraine 8vo,  Paper  50 

Christowell 4to,  Paper  20 

Clara  Vaiighan 4to,  Paper  IE 

Cradock  Nowell 8vo,  Paper  60 

Crippg,  the  Carrier.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Erema 8vo,  Paper  50 

LornaDoone 12mo,  Cloth,  $1  00;       8vo,Paper  25 

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BRADDON'S  (Miss)  An  Open  Verdict 8vo,  Paper  35 

A  Strange  World 8vo,  Paper  40 

Asphodel 4to,  Paper  15 

Aurora  Floyd 8vo,  Paper  40 

Barbara;  or, Splendid  Misery 4to,  Paper  15 

Birds  of  Prey.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Bound  to  John  Company.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Charlotte's  Inheritance 8vo,  Paper  35 

Cut  by  the  County IGrao,  Paper  25 

Dead  Men's  Shoes 8vo,  Paper  40 

Dead  Sea  Fruit.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Eleanor's  Victory 8vo,  Paper  60 

Fenton's  Quest.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Flower  and  Weed 4to,  Paper  10 

Hostages  to  Fortune.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Ishmael 4to,  Paper  20 

John  Marchmont's  Legacy 8vo,  Paper  50 

Joshua  Haggard's  Daughter.      Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Just  as  I  Am , 4to,  Paper  15 

Lost  for  Love.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Mistletoe  Bough,  1878.     Edited  by  M.  E.  Braddun 4to,  Paper  15 

Mistletoe  Bough,  1879.     Edited  by  M.  E.  Braddon 4to,  Paper  10 

Mistletoe  Bough,  1884.     Edited  by  M.  E.  Braddon 4to,  Paper  20 

Mount  Royal 4to,  Paper  15 

Phantom  Fortune 4to,  Paper  20 

Publicans  and  Sinners 8vo,  Paper  50 

Strangers  and  Pilgrims.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Taken  at  the  Flood 8vo,  Paper  60 

The  Cloven  Foot  4to,  Paper  15 

The  Lovels  of  Arden.      Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

To  the  Bitter  End.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Under  the  Red  Flag 4to,  Paper  10 

Vixen 4to,  Paper  15 

Weavers  and  Weft 8vo,  Paper  25 

Wvllard's  Weird 4to,  Paper  20 

BREAD-WINNERS,  THE 16mo,  Cloth  1  00 

BR0NT:^'S  (Charlotte)  Jane  Eyre.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth  1  00 

4to,  Paper,  15  cents ;     8vo,  Paper  40 


Harper  <fc  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 


PEIOR 

BRONTE'S  (Charlotte)  Shirley.    Ill'd . .  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  00 ;  8vo,  Paper  $  50 

The  Professor.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth,  $1  00;  4to,  Paper  20 

Villette.     Illustrated r2mo,  Clotli,  $1  00;  8vo,  Paper  50 

BRONTE'S  (Anne)  The  Tenant  of  Wildfell  Hall.     Ill'd... .  ]?,mo,  Cloth  1  00 

BRONTE'S  (Emily)  Wuthering  Heights.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth  1  00 

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8vo,  Paper  50 

Deverenx 8vo,  Paper  40 

Ernest  Maltravers 8vo,  Paper  35 

Godolphin 8vo,  Paper  35 

Kenelni  Chillingly 12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25;         8vo,  Paper  50 

Leila. 12mo,  Cloth,    1  00 

Night  and  Morning 8 vo,  Paper  50 

Paul  Clifford 8vo,  Paper  40 

Pausanias  the  Spartan 12mo,  Cloth,  75  cents;     8 vo.  Paper  25 

Pelham 8vo,  Paper  40 

Rienzi 8vo,  Paper  40 

The  Caxtons 12mo,  Cloth    1  25 

The  Coming  Race 12mo,  Cloth,     100;      12mo,Paper  50 

The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii 8vo,  Paper,  25  cents  ;        4to,  Paper  15 

The  Parisians.     Illustrated 12nio,  Cloth,  $1  50;        8 vo,  Paper  60 

The  Pilgrims  of  the  Rhine., 8vo,  Paper  20 

What  will  He  do  with  it? 8vo,  Paper  75 

Zanoni  8to,  Paper  35 

COLLINS'S  (Wilkie)  Novels.  Ill'd  Library  Edition.  12mo,  Cloth,  per  vol.  1  25 
After  Dark,  and  Other  Stores. — Antonina. — Armadale. — Basil. — 
Hide-and-Seek. — Man  and  Wife. — My  Miscellanies. — No  Name. 
— Poor  Miss  Finch. — The  Dead  Secret. — The  Law  and  the  Lady. 
— The  Moonstone. — The  New  Magdalen. — The  Queen  of  Hearts. 
— The  Two  Destinies. — The  Woman  in  White. 

Antonina 8vo,  Paper  40 

Armadale.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  60 

"ISayNo".16mo,  Cloth,  50  cts.;  16mo,  Paper,  35  cts. ;     4to,  Paper  20 

Man  and  Wife 4to,  Paper  20 

My  Lady's  Money 32mo,  Paper  25 

No  Name.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  60 

Percy  and  the  Prophet 32mo,  Paper  20 

Poor  Miss  Finch.     Illustrated 8vo,  Cloth,  $1  10;      8 vo,  Paper  60 

The  Law  and  the  Lady.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

The  Moonstone.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  60 

The  New  Magdalen 8vo,  Paper  30 

The  Two  Destinies.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  85 

The  Woman  in  White.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  60 

CRAIK'S(Miss  G.  M.)  Anne  Warwick 8vo,  Paper  25 

Dorcas 4to,  Paper  15 

Fortune's  Marriage 4to,  Paper  20 

Godfrey  Helstone  4to,  Paper  20 

Hard  to  Bear 8vo,  Paper  80 

Mildred Svo,  Paper  38 


Harper  <&  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 


P«IOK 

CRAIK'S  (iliss  G.  M.)  Sydney 4to,  Paper  $    15 

Sylvia's  Choice 8vo,  Paper      30 

Two  Women ....4to,  Paper       15 

DICKENS'S  (Charles)  Works.     Household  Edition.     Illustrated.     8vo. 

Set  of  16  vols.,  Cloth,  in  box 22  00 


A  Tale  of  Two  Cities.Paper  $    50 

Cloth  1  00 
Bamaby  Rudge Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 
Bleak  House Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 
Christmas  Stories.. ..Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 
David  Copperfield.  ..Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 
DombeyandSon Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 
Great  Expectations... Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 
Little  Dorrit Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  60 
Martin  Chuzzlewit.... Paper  1  00 


Martin  Chuzzlewit Cloth  1  60 

Nicholas  Nickleby Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  60 

Oliver  Twist Paper       50 

Cloth  1  00 

Our  Mutual  Friend Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 

Pickwick  Papers Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 

Pictures  from  Italy,  Sketches  by 

Boz,  American  Notes  ...Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 

The  Old  Curiosity  Shop. ..Paper      75 

Cloth  1  25 
Uncommercial    Traveller,  Hard 
Times,  Edwin  Drood... Paper  1  00 
Cloth  1   50 

Pickwick  Papers 4to,  Paper       20 

The  Mudfog  Papers,  &c 4to,  Paper       10 

Mystery  of  Edwin  Drood.     Illustrated 8v8,  Paper      25 

Hard  Times Svo,  Paper       25 

Mrs.  Lirriper's  Legacy Svo,  Paper       10 

DE  MILLE'S  A  Castle  in  Spain.     Ill'd. ...Svo,  Cloth,  $1  00;  Svo,  Paper       50 

Cord  and  Creese.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper       60 

The  American  Baron.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper       60 

The  Cryptogram.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper       76 

The  Dodge  Club.     Illustrated. ...Svo,  Paper,  60  cents;     Svo,  Cloth  1   10 
The  Living  Link.     Illustrated.... Svo,  Paper,  60  cents ;     Svo,  Cloth  1   10 

DISRAELI'S  (Earl  of  Beaconsfield)  Endymion 4to,  Paper       16 

The  Young  Duke 12rno,  Cloth,  $1  50;      4to,  Paper       15 

ELIOT'S  (George)  Works.    Lib.  Ed.     12  vols.    Iird...l2mo,Cl.,  per  vol.  1  25 

Popular  Edition.     12  vols.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth,  per  vol.       75 

Adam  Bedo. — Daniel  Deronda,  2  vols. — Essays  and  Leaves  from  a 

Note-Book. — Felix  Holt,  the  Radical. — Middleraarch,  2  vols. — 

Romola. — Scenes  of  Clerical  Life,  and  Silas  Marner. — The  Mill 

on  the  Floss. — Poems :  with  Brother  Jacob  and  The  Lifted  Veil. 

Fireside  Edition.     Containing  the  above  in  6  vols.     (^Sold  only  in 

Sets.) 12mo,  Cloth   1  50 

Adam  Bede.     Illustrated ,..4to.  Paper       25 

Amos  Barton 32qio,  Paper       20 

Brother  Jacob.— The  Lifted  Veil 32mo,  Paper       20 

Daniel  Deronda Svo,  Paper       50 

Felix  Holt,  the  Radical Svo,  Paper       50 

Janet's  Repentance 32mo,Paper      20 


Harper  <&  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 


FBIOB 

ELIOT'S  (George)  Middlemarch 8vo,  Paper  $   75 

Mr.  Gilfil's  Love  Story 32mo,  Paper  20 

Romola.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Silas  Marner 12mo,  Paper  20 

Scenes  of  Clerical  Life 8vo,  Paper  50 

The  Mill  on  the  Floss 8 vo,  Paper  50 

EDWARDS'S  (A.  B.)  Barbara's  History 8vo,  Paper  50 

Debenham's  Vow.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Half  a  Million  of  Money 8vo,  Paper  50 

Lord  Brackenbury 4to,  Paper  15 

Miss  Carew 8vo,  Paper  35 

My  Brother's  Wife 8vo,  Paper  25 

EDWARDS'S  (M.  B.)  Disarmed 4to,  Paper  15 

Exchange  No  Robbery 4to,  Paper  15 

Kitty 8vo,  Paper  35 

Pearla 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Flower  of  Doom,  and  Otlier  Stories IGrao,  Paper  2P 

FARJEOX'S  An  Island  Pearl.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  30 

At  the  Sign  of  the  Silver  Flagon 8vo,  Paper  25 

Blade-o'-Grass.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  30 

Bread-and-Cheese  and  Kisses.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  36 

Golden  Grain.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  35 

Great  Porter  Square 4to,  Paper  20 

Jessie  Trim Svo,  Paper  35 

Joshua  Marvel Svo,  Paper  40 

Love's  Harvest 4to,  Paper  20 

Lore's  Victory , Svo,  Paper  20 

Shadows  on  the  Snow.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  30 

The  Bells  of  Penraven 4to,  Paper  10 

The  Duchess  of  Rosemary  Lane Svo,  Paper  35 

The  King  of  No-Land,     illustrated 8vo,  Paper  25 

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My  Lady  Ludlow Svo,  Paper  20 

Right  at  Last,  &c 12 mo,  Cloth  1  50 

Sylvia's  Lovers Svo,  Paper  40 

Wives  and  Daughters.     Illustrated  Svo,  Paper  60 

GIBBON'S  (C.)  A  Hard  Knot 12mo,  Paper  25 

A  Heart's  Problem 4to,  Paper  10 

By  Mead  and  Stream 4to,  Paper  20 

For  Lack  of  Gold ,«. Svo,  Paper  35 

For  the  King Svo,  Paper  30 

Heart's  Delight 4to,  Paper  20 

In  Honor  Bound 4to,  Paper  35 

Of  High  Degree Svo,  Paper  20 

Robin  Gray Svo,  Paper  35 

Queen  of  the  Meadow 4to,  Paper  15 


Harper  (k  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 


PBIOB 


GIBBON'S  (C.)  The  Braes  of  Yarrow 4to,  Paper$  20 

Tlie  Golden  Sliaft 4to,  Paper  20 

HARDY'S  (Thos.)  Fellow-Townsmen 32mo,  Paper  20 

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A  Shadow  on  (he  Threshold 32mo,  Paper  20 

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Back  to  the  Old  Home 32rao,  Paper  20 

Bid  Me  Discourse 4to,  Paper  10 

Dorothy's  Venture 4to,  Paper  15 

For  Her  Dear  Sake 4to,  Paper  15 

Hidden  Perils  8vo,  Paper  25 

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Lady  Carmichael's  Will 32mo,  Paper  15 

Lester's  Secret 4to,  Paper  20 

Missing 32mo,  Paper  20 

My  First  Offer,  and  Other  Stories 4to,  Paper  15 

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""     '^       "         "  "  '  20 

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Washington  Square.     Illustrated ICmio,  Cloth  1  25 

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Harper  &  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 


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Sans  Merci 8vo,  Paper  35 

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Barrington 8vo,  Paper  40 

Gerald  Fitzgerald 8vo,  Paper  40 

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One  of  Them 8vo,  Paper  50 

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The  Daltons Svo,  Paper  75 

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Tony  Butler Svo,  Paper  60 

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Donnl  Grant 4to,  Paper  20 

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Weighed  and  Wanting 4to,  Paper  20 

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A  Legacy 12mo,  Cloth  90 

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I'inio,  Cloth,  90  cents;     4to,  Paper  15 

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Nothing  New Svo,  Paper  30 

Ogilvies.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth,  90  cents;     Svo,  Paper  35 


8  Harder  rf;  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 

PEIOK 

MULOCK'S  (Miss)  Olive.     IllM 12mo,  Cloth,  90  cents  ;  8vo,  Paper  $  85 

The  Laurel  Bush.    IllM 12nio,  Cloth,  90  ceuts;      8vo,  Paper  25 

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Two  Marriages 12mo,  Cloth  90 

Unkind  Word,  and  Other  Stories 12mo,  Cloth  90 

Young  Mrs.  Jardinc 12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25;      4 to,  Paper  10 

MURRAY'S  (D.  C.)  A  Life's  Atonement 4to,  Paper  20 

A  Model  Father 4to,  Paper  10 

By  the  Gate  of  the  Sea 4to,  Paper,  15  cents  ;  12mo,  Paper  15 

Hearts 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Way  of  the  World ..4to,  Paper  20 

Val  Strange 4to,  Paper  20 

Adrian  Vidal.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper  25 

NORRIS'S  (W.  E.)  A  Man  of  His  Word,  &c 4to,  Paper  20 

Heaps  of  Money 8vo,  Paper  15 

Mademoiselle  de  Mersac 4to,  Paper  20 

Matrimony 4to,  Paper  20 

No  New  Thing 4to,  Paper  25 

That  Terrible  Man 12mo,  Paper  25 

Thirlby  Hall.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper  25 

OLIPH  ANT'S  (Laurence)  Altiora  Peto .  4to,  Paper,  20  ots. ;    1 6mo,  Paper  20 

Piccadilly 16mo,  Paper  25 

OLIPHANT'S  (Mrs.)  Agnes 8 vo,  Paper  50 

A  Son  of  the  Soil 8vo,  Paper  50 

Athelings 8vo,  Paper  50 

Brownlows 8vo,  Paper  50 

Carit^.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Chronicles  of  Carlingford 8vo,  Paper  60 

Days  of  My  Life 12mo,  Cloth  1  50 

For  Love  and  Life 8vo,  Paper  50 

Harry  Joscelyn 4to,  Paper  20 

He  That  Will  Not  when  He  May 4to,  Paper  20 

Hester..,., ." 4to,  Paper  20 

Innocent.     Illustrated ,..8vo.  Paper  50 

It  was  a  Lover  and  His  Lass 4to,  Paper  20 

Lady  Jane 4to,  Paper  10 

Lucy  Crofton 12mo,  Cloth  1  50 

Madam Itimo,  Cloth,  ^o  cents;       4to,  Paper  25 

Madonna  Mary 8vo,  Paper  50 

Miss  Marjoribanks Svo,  Paper  50 

Mrs.  Arthur 8vo,  Paper  40 

Ombra Svo,  Paper  50 

Ph(pbe,  Junior 8vo,  Paper  35 

Sir  Tom 4to,  Paper  20 

Squire  Arden 8vo,  Paper  50 

The  Curate  in  Charge Svo,  Paper  20 

The  Fugitives 4to,  Paper  10 

The  Greatest  Heiress  in  England 4to,  Paper  10 

The  Ladies  Lindores 16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00;     4to,  Paper  20 


Harper  <&  Brothers''  Popular  Novels.  9 

PEIOE 

OLIPHANT'S  (Mrs.)  The  Laird  of  Norlaw 12mo,  Cloth  $1  50 

The  Last  of  the  Mortimers 12mo,  Cloth  1  50 

The  Primrose  Path 8vo,  Paper  50 

The  Story  of  Valentine  ami  his  Brother 8vo,  Paper  50 

The  Wizard's  Son 4to,  Paper  25 

Within  the  Precincts 4to,  Paper  15 

Young  Musgrave 8vo,  Paper  40 

PAYN'S  (James)  A  Beggar  on  Horseback Svo,  Paper  35 

A  Confidential  Agent 4to,  Paper  15 

A  Grape  from  a  Thorn 4to,  Paper  20 

A  Woman's  Vengeance Svo,  Paper  35 

At  Her  Mercy Svo,  Paper  30 

Bred  in  the  Bone Svo,  Paper  40 

By  Proxy Svo,  Paper  35 

Carlvon's  Year Svo,  Paper  25 

For  Cash  Only 4to,  Paper  20 

Found  Dead Svo,  Pa[)er  25 

From  Exile , 4to,  Paper  15 

GwendoUne's  Harvest. Svo,  Paper  25 

Halves Svo,  Paper  30 

High  Spirits 4to,  Paper  15 

Kit.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper  20 

Less  Black  than  We're  Painted Svo,  Paper  35 

Murphy's  Master Svo,  Paper  20 

One  of  the  Family Svo,  Paper  25 

The  Best  of  Husbands Svo,  Paper  25 

The  Canon's  Ward.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper  25 

The  Talk  of  tiie  Town 4to,  Paper  20 

Thicker  than  Water 16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00;         4to,  Paper  20 

Under  One  Koof 4to,  Paper  15 

Walter's  Word Svo,  Paper  5ft 

What  He  Cost  Her Svo,  Paper  40 

Won— Not  Wooed Svo,  Paper  30 

BEADE'S  Novels:  Household  Edition.     lU'd 12mo,  Cloth,  per  vol.  1  00 


A  Simpleton  and  Wandering  Heir, 

A  Terrible  Temptation. 

A  Woman-Hater. 

Foul  Play. 

Good  Stories. 

Griffith  Gaunt. 

Hard  Cash. 


It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend. 

Love  me  Little,  Love  me  Long. 

Peg  Woffiugton,  Christie  John- 
stone, &c. 

Put  Yourself  in  His  Place. 

The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth. 

White  Lies. 
A  Perilous  Secret...  12mo,  01.,  Y5  cts. ;  4to,  Pap.,  20  cts. ;  16rao,  Pap.       40 

A  Hero  and  a  Martyr Svo,  Paper       15 

A  Simpleton Svo,  Paper       30 

A  Terrible  Temptation.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper       25 

A  Woman-Hater.     Ill'd Svo,  Paper,  30  cents ;     12mo,  Paper       20 

Foul  Play Svo,  Paper       30 

Good  Stories  of  Man  and  Other  Animals.     Illustrated. ,.4to,  Paper       20 
Griffith  Gaunt.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper      30 


10 


Harper  <&  Brothers^  Popular  JVoveli. 


READE'S  (Charles)  Ilard  Cash.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  ^ 

It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Meud 8vo,  Paper 

Jack  of  all  Trades I61T10,  Paper 

Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long 8vo,  Paper 

Miiltum  in  Parvo.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper 

Peg  Wofiington,  &c 8vo,  Paper 

Put  Yourself  in  His  Place.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper 

T,he  Cloister  and  the  Hearth 8vo,  Paper 

The  Coming  Man 32mo,  Paper 

The  Jilt 32mo,  Paper 

The  Picture 16mo,  Paper 

The  Wandering  Heir.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper 

White  Lies 8vo,  Paper 

ROBINSON'S  (F.  W.)  A  Bridge  of  Glass 8vo,  Paper 

A  Fair  Maid 4to,  Paper 

A  Girl's  Romance,  and  Other  Stories 8vo,  Paper 

As  Long  as  She  Lived 8vo,  Paper 

Carry's  Confession 8vo,  Paper 

Christie's  Faith 12mo,  Cloth 

Coward  Conscience 4to,  Paper 

Her  Face  was  Her  Fortune Svo,  Paper 

Lazarus  in  London 4to,  Paper 

Little  Kate  Kirby.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper 

Mattie:  a  Stray 8vo,  Paper 

No  Man's  Friend Svo,  Paper 

Othello  the  Second 32mo,  Paper 

Poor  Humanity Svo,  Paper 

Poor  Zeph! 32mo,  Paper 

Romance  on  Four  Wheels , Svo,  Paper 

Second-Cousin  Sarah.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper 

Stern  Necessity Svo,  Paper 

The  Barmaid  at  Battleton 32mo,  Paper 

The  Black  Speck 4to,  Paper 

The  Hands  of  Justice , 4to,  Paper 

The  Man  She  Cared  For 4to,  Paper 

The  Romance  of  a  Back  Street 32mo,  Paper 

True  to  Herself Svo,  Paper 

RUSSELL'S  (W.  Clark)  Auld  Lang  Syne 4to,  Paper 

A  Sailor's  Sweetheart 4to,  Paper 

A  Sea  Queen 16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00;       4to,  Paper 

An  Ocean  Free  Lance 4to,  Paper 

Jack's  Courtship 16mo,  Cloth,    1  00;       4to,  Paper 

John  Holdsworth,  Chief  Mate 4to,  Paper 

Little  Loo 4to,  Paper 

My  Watch  Below 4to,  Paper 

On  the  Fo'k'sle  Head 4to,  Paper 

Round  the  Galley  Fire 4to,  Paper 

The  "Lady  Maud:"  Schooner  Yacht.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper 

Wreck  of  the  "  Grosvenor  " Svo,  Paper,  30  cents ;      4to,  Paper 


Harper  ct  Brothers'  Popular  Novels.  11 

PBIOK 

SCOTT'S  Novels.     See  Waverlei)  Novels. 

SHERWOOD'S  (Mrs.  John)  A  Transplauted  Rose 12mo,  Cloth  $1  OO 

TABOR'S  (Eliza)  Eglantiue 8vo,  Paper  40 

Hope  Meredith 8vo,  Paper  35 

Jeanie's  Quiet  Life 8vo,  Paper  30 

Little  Miss  Primrose 4to,  Paper  15 

Meta's  Faith 8vo,  Paper  35 

The  Blue  Ribbon 8vo,  Paper  40 

The  Last  of  Her  Line 4to,  Paper  15 

The  Senior  Songman 4to,  Paper  20 

•  THACKERAY'S  (Miss)  Bluebeard's  Keys 8vo,  Paper  35 

Da  Capo 32mo,  Paper  20 

Miscellaneous  Works 8vo,  Paper  90 

Miss  Angel 8vo,  Paper  50 

Miss  Williamson's  Divagations 4to,  Paper  15 

Old  Kensington.      Illustrated Svo,  Paper  60 

THACKERAY'S  (W.  M.)  Denis  Duval.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  25 

Henry  Esmond,  and  Lovel  the  Widower.     12  Ill's Svo,  Paper  60 

Henry  Esmond 8vo,  Pa.,  50  cents ;     4to,  Paper  15 

Lovel  the  Widower Svo,  Paper  20 

Pendennis.     179  Illustrations Svo,  Paper  75 

The  Adventures  of  Philip.     64  Illustrations 8vo,  Paper  60 

The  Great  Hoggarty  Diamond Svo,  Paper  20 

The  Newcomes.     162  Illustrations Svo,  Paper  90 

The  "Virginians.     150  Illustrations 8vo,  Paper  90 

Vanity  Fair.     32  Illustrations Svo,  Paper  80 

THACKERAY'S  Works.    Illustrated.. 12mo,  Cloth,  per  vol.  1  25 

Novels:  Vanity  Fair. — Pendennis. — The  Newcomes. — The  Virgin- 
ians.— Philip. — Esmond,  and  Lovel  the  Widower.  6  vols.  Mi»- 
cellanemis:  Barry  Lyndon,  Hoggarty  Diamond,  &c. — Paris  and 
Irish  Sketch-Books,  &c. — Book  of  Snobs,  Sketches,  &c. — Four 
Georges,  English  Humorists,  Roundabout  Papers,  &c. — Catharine, 
&c.     5  vols. 

TOWNSEND'S  (G.  A.)  The  Entailed  Hat 16rao,  Cloth  1  50 

TROLLOPE'S  (Anthony)  An  Eye  for  an  Eye 4to,  Paper  10 

An  Old  Man's  Love 4to,  Paper  15 

Ayala's  Angel 4to,  Paper  20 

Cousin  Henry 4to,  Paper  10 

Doctor  Thorne ISmo,  Cloth  I  50 

Doctor  Wortle's  School 4to,  Paper  15 

Framley  Parsonage 4to,  Paper  15 

Harry  Heathcote  of  Gangoil.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  20 

He  Knew  He  was  Right.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  80 

Is  He  Popenjoy  ? 4to,  Paper  20 

John  Caldigate 4to,  Paper  18 

Kept  in  the  Dark 4to,  Paper  Ifi 

Lady  Anna Svo,  Pa])er  30 

Marion  Fay.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper  20 

Phineas  Redux.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  76 


12  Harper  <&  Brothers^  Popular  Novels. 

PRICK 

TROLLOPE'S  (Anthony)  Rachel  Ray 8vo,  Paper  $  36 

Ralph  the  Heir.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  75 

Sir  Harry  Hotspur  of  Humblethwaite.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  35 

The  American  Senator Svo,  Paper  60 

The  Belton  Estate Svo,  Paper  36 

The  Bertrams 4to,  Paper  16 

The  Duke's  Children 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Eustace  Diamonds.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  80 

The  Fixed  Period 4to,  Paper  15 

The  Golden  Lion  of  Granpere.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  40 

The  Lady  of  Launay 32mo,  Paper  20 

The  Last  Chronicle  of  Barset.    Illustrated Svo,  Paper  90 

The  Prime  Minister Svo,  Paper  60 

The  Small  House  at  Allington.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  75 

The  Vicar  of  Bullhampton.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  80 

The  Warden,  and  Barchester  Towers Svo,  Paper  60 

The  Way  We  Live  Now.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  90 

Thompson  Hall.     Illustrated 32mo,  Paper  20 

Why  Frau  Frohman  Raised  her  Prices,  &c 4to,  Paper  10 

(Frances  E.)  Among  Aliens.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper  15 

Anne  Furness Svo,  Paper  50 

Like  Ships  Upon  the  Sea 4to,  Paper  20 

Mabel's  Progress Svo,  Paper  40 

The  Sacristan's  Household.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  50 

Veronica Svo,  Paper  50 

WALLACE'S  (Lew)  Ben-Hur 16mo,  Cloth  1  50 

WAVERLEY  NOVELS.     12mo.     With  2000  Illustrations. 

Thistle  Edition 48  Vols.,  Green  Cloth,  per  vol.  1  00 

Complete  Sets,  Half  Morocco,  Gilt  Tops 72  00 

HoLYROOD  Edition 48  Vols.,  Brown  Cloth,  per  vol.  75 

Complete  Sets,  Half  Morocco,  Gilt  Tops 72  00 

Popular  Edition 24  Vols.,  Green  Cloth,  per  vol.   1  25 

Complete  Sets,  Half  Morocco 54  00 

WAVERLEY  NOVELS.     12mo.     With  2000  Illustrations. 

Waverley ;  Guy  Mannering ;  The  Antiquary ;  Rob  Roy ;  Old 
Mortality ;  The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian ;  A  Legend  of  Montrose ; 
The  Bride  of  Lammermoor ;  The  Black  Dwarf ;  Ivanhoe ;  The 
Monastery ;  The  Abbot ;  Kenilworth ;  The  Pirate ;  The  Fortunes 
of  Nigel ;  Peveril  of  the  Peak ;  Quentin  Durward ;  St.  Ronan's 
Well ;  Redgauntlet ;  The  Betrothed ;  The  Talisman ;  Woodstock  ; 
Chronicles  of  the  Canongate,  The  Highland  Widow,  &c. ;  The 
Fair  Maid  of  Perth ;  Anne  of  Geierstein ;  Count  Robert  of  Paris ; 
Castle  Dangerous ;  The  Surgeon's  Daughter ;  Glossary. 

VOOLSON'S  (C.  F.)  Anne.     Illustrated  by  Reinhart 16mo,  Cloth   1  25 

For  the  Major.     Illustrated 16mo,  Cloth    1  00 

YATES'S  (Edmund)  Dr.  Wainwright's  Patient Svo,  Paper  30 

Kissing  the  Rod Svo,  Paper  40 

Land  at  Last Svo,  Paper  40 

Wrecked  in  Port Svo,  Paper  35 


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